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‘‘I Forbid the Banns!” 


THE STORY OF A COMEDY WHICH WAS 
PLAYED SERIOUSLY 


BY 

FRANK FRANKFORT MOORE 

Author of *‘The Jcssamy Bride,” etc^ 



NEW YORK 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers 

238 William Street 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two Copies Recoved 

MAR 22 1901 

COPVRICHT ENTRY 

CLASS <VxXa N*. 
COPY S. 





Copyright, 1893, 

By CASSELL PUBLISHING CO. 


Copyright, 1901, 

By STREET & SMITH 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. On Flying Fish, ..... i 

II. On the Cutting of Cameos, ... 5 

III. On the Captain’s Profanity, . . .14 

IV. On Italian Proverbs, ... 18 

V. On the Origin of a Man, . . . .23 

VI. On an Ocean Island, .... 30 

VII. On the Liebig Principle, . . . -39 

VIII. On Shadows, ..... 44 

IX. On a Deck Chair, . . • . 53 

X. On the Human Soul, ... 59 

XI. On Leading a Horse to the Water, . . 66 

Xli. On the Voracity of the Shark, . . 72 

XIII. On a Revelation, . . . . .81 

XIV. On the Kiss, ..... 87 

XV. Concerning Propositions, . . . -93 

XVI. On the Voice that Breathed o’er Eden, . 103 

XVII. On the Temptation of Faust, . . .112 

XVIII. On THE Thames, ..... 118 

XIX. On the Power of a New Sensation, . . 125 

XX. On an Oak Settee, . . . .133 

XXL On the Art of Lying, . . . .140 

XXII. On the Art of Singing, . . . .145 

XXIII. On the Beast, . . . . .151 

XXIV. On a Show, ..... 156 

XXV. On a Fine Day, . . . . .163 

XXVI. On Providence and the Fiend, . . .171 

XXVII. On the Song of the Nightingale, . . . i 77 

XXVIII. On the Type of the Faithful, . . .187 


V 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXIX. On Variety in Lace, . . . .194 

XXX. On Velvet, ..... 201 

XXXI. On a Bishop, ..... 208 

XXXII. On the War Path, ... 214 

XXXIII. On the Study of Geography, . . . 223 

XXXIV. On Being Thought a Scoundrel, . . 235 

XXXV. On the Smile and the Frown, . . . 245 

XXXVI. On Short Sight and other Infirmities, . 253 

XXXyil. On the Habits of Aquatic Fowl, . . 261 

XXXVIII. On the First Cloud, .... 270 

. XXXIX. On the Locust as a Comestible, . . . 278 

XL. On French Porcelain, .... 285 

XLI. On Being a Personage, .... 295 

XLII. On the Smile of Miss Travers, . . 305 

XLIII. On Some Forms of Impudence, . . . 313 

XLIV. On the Disadvantages of Electric Light, . 320 

XLV. On the Approach of Dawn, . . . 329 

XLVI. On the Plunge, ..... 335 

XLVII. On the Moment after the Plunge, . . 343 

XLVIII. On the Beginning of a Quest, . . 352 

XLIX. On the Embankment, .... 360 

L. On Parliament and the Padded Room, . 368 

LI. On Private Inquiry, .... 373 

LIE On the Advantages of a Clew, . . 381 

LIII. On Some Grains of Comfort, . . . 390 

LIV. On the Conclusion of the Experiment, . 395 


“I FORBID THE BANNS!” 


PART I. 


CHAPTER I. 

ON FLYING FISH. 

M y dear Charlton, I say ‘ Bismillah ! Allah ilia Allah ! 
kismet ! ’ and so forth.” 

“ Quite so ; and these dark phrases being interpreted 

into the language of the accursed Giaour mean that ” 

“ That when a thief’s hour is come he may be captured, 
even by a policeman.” 

“ It strikes me that has about it a certain Teutonic 
flavor. Will you oblige me with the application of your 
adaptation of this pretty free translation of the German 
proverb ? ” 

“ What, you cannot see it for yourself ? ” 

Proverbs are like prophecies, my friend ; they are 
susceptible of being interpreted to suit the exigencies 
of the hour, and of the interpreter. Now what are your 
exigencies, oh, diplomatist ? ” 

“Why, man, can’t you see that the drift of my fatalism 
and of my proverbial philosophy is, that when a fellow 
comes face to face with the right girl, he can no more resist 
falling in love with her than — than — ” the speaker looked 
around for a simile — “ than — than one of those flying fish 


2 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


can help dropping back to the water after it has skimmed 
along for thirty or forty yards ? " 

Mr. Cyril Southcote pointed airily with his left hand 
over the ship’s side, where, with a flicker of fins, a dozen' 
flying fish shot out of the water and fled along the surface. 
A watchful sea bird, not being impressed with the absolute 
obligation on the part of nature to help out the resources 
of human philosophers, made a swoop for the flying fish 
and secured a fine specimen. 

The little group on the deck of the steamship Car- 
narvon Castle watched the transaction, and a general laugh 
arose. 

“ That young ’un,” remarked Captain Waring of the 
Royal Bayonetteers, sending a puff of cigar smoke in the 
direction of the fish, which was very rapidly being assimi- 
lated into the digestive system of the bird. “ That 
young ’un managed to help dropping back to the water, 
anyway.” 

“ It wasn’t exactly the one I had my eye on when I 
made the remark,” said Southcote, as airily as ever. 
“ But you see what happened to it, because it was not 
clever enough to act conventionally, and as it was expected 
to act.” 

“It got chawed up a bit,” said Waring sententiously. 

“ Quite so ; you perceive the moral ? 

“ Oh, come into the smoking room and have another 
game of poker,” said Waring. “ It’s time for us to have a 
deal at poker when he begins to talk of morals.” 

Julian Charlton gave a little laugh, but showed no inten- 
tion of moving. 

“ Say that we don’t perceive even so obvious a moral as 
is pointed by your incident,” he remarked to Southcote. 

“ Of course you are joking. Why, I do believe that 
Waring here must perceive how aptly my contention was 
illustrated.” 


ON FLYING FISH. 3 

^‘He’s pretty well hanged if he does,” growled Waring. 
“ Come and have a peg and a poker.” 

“You were giving it as your impression that a man is 
bound to fall up to the eyebrows in love when he meets 
with the sole woman out of the millions on the earth’s crust 
who — well, who is meant for him ; that’s a bit clumsily 
put, I admit, but it has the advantage of being under- 
standed of the people.” 

“ And that’s more than can be said of Southcote’s 
philosophizing. Now what about that poker?” said 
Waring. 

“ You have made a very good attempt to put my humble 
impressions into a few words,” said Southcote. “ That 
being so, you will certainly perceive that that fish which 
was silly enough not to return to the water five seconds 
sooner than the others took their headers, represents the 
man who refuses to obey the dictates of his better nature — 
who fancies that he will rise superior to a law that is as 
universal as the law of gravitation, and who comes to grief 
in consequence. Is that plain enough ?” 

“ Great Caesar ! ” cried Waring, “ he’s trying to make 
out that that bit of a fish was sent by Providence — like 
Jonah’s whale, by George — to illustrate a theory.” 

“I’ll not venture to suggest, Southcote,” remarked Julian 
Charlton, “ that the attraction of gravitation might not 
have done for the fish as effectually as its flight through 
space — the maw of a shark is not fundamentally different 
from the gizzard of a molly-mawk^but I take it that you 
believe — to be more correct, that you wish us to believe 
that you believe — that there is no crawling in love, that it’s 
all falling.” 

“ You have hit the nail on the head at last, Charlton. 
I’m for the long drop.” 

“ Oh, the long drop be hanged ! ” said Waring, putting 
his hand through Charlton’s arm while Southcote laughed. 


4 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


“ The long drop be hanged ! Come along for that poker 
before the steward’s bell rings for dinner. You’re too 
good a listener, Charlton, that’s what’s the matter with 
you — it’s the matter with both of us, and it has encouraged 
the diplomatist until he is ready to talk us out of house 
and home.” 

“ I’ll finish this business with you another time. South- 
cote,” said Charlton, suffering himself to be led away to the 
smoking room in the midships deck house of the steamship 
Carnarvon Castle, 


CHAPTER II. 


ON THE CUTTING OF CAMEOS. 

W HEN Waring and his victim had disappeared within the 
deck house, Mr. Cyril Southcote gave a little laugh, 
which he meant to be expressive of the subtle enjoyment 
which his intellectual achievements conveyed to his own 
senses. It was his belief that his intellect stood out as a 
white cameo does against its dull background. If his intel- 
lect was the cameo he had no difficulty whatever in assigning 
to the combined intellects of his friends the position of the 
dull background against which his own — clear cut and 
finely finished to a hair’s breadth — became the more con- 
spicuous. He was not a vain man : he only believed that 
his own intellect was the cameo and his friends’ intellects 
the background. He felt it to be his duty to see that this 
homely commonplace surface was not wasted. As a back- 
ground it had a destiny to fulfill. He seldom felt that he 
had any reason to reproach himself for neglecting his duty, 
in respect of making the cameo conspicuous by keeping the 
background in its legitimate position. People occasionally 
said he was scarcely so clever as he seemed to be. When 
a whisper now and again reached him to this effect, he was 
accustomed to find fault with his background. It mani- 
fested certain inartistic irregularities. The cameo was all 
right. And so he fancied that he always cut the figure 
which he wished to cut. 

He was clever enough to be a fine art auctioneer, and 
unscrupulous enough to be a statesman of the first rank. 

He was generally clever, but he was sometimes good- 
natured. 


5 


6 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


People who had met him once or twice said they believed 
he could do anything he aspired to do in the world. If 
their opinion was correct, the result of his career was 
simply to show how modest had been his aspirations. 

People who had known him for a year said they believed 
he would yet make his mark in the world. He may have 
fancied they were right until he had entered upon his 
thirtieth year. After this date, however, he was accustomed 
to smile when it was hinted to him now and again that a 
man of his cleverness should make a mark in the world. 

“ My dear sir,” he said upon one occasion, when he 
knew there were persons present who would be careful to 
give his phrases circulation, “ there are only three men of 
whom it may safely be predicted that they will make their 
mark in the world — the man who cannot write, the miller, 
and the chimney sweep.” 

To say so much, however, was not to say distinctly that 
he did not mean to distinguish himself eventually. 

When he was thirty-two it was suggested that he should 
endeavor to make a name for himself. 

At this suggestion he also smiled ; but his smiles at this 
period were scarcely so bright as those of an earlier date. 

“ My parents have saved me the trouble of making a 
name for myself : they have given me a very good name.” 

His reply was apt. His parents had not Hiramed or 
Habakkuked away his chances in life. The name of Cyril 
Southcote was so pleasing to pronounce that people pro- 
nounced it out of the pure pleasure of the thing. After 
pronouncing it some people felt as self-satisfied as if they 
had delivered an epigram or a quotation from Swinburne. 
This being so, his name was pretty frequently repeated in 
society. 

His father, Sir Montague Southcote, was the only one 
who did not seem to find pleasure in uttering his name, 
Sir Montague was a general officer, a K. C. B., a K. C. M. G., 


ON THE CUTTING OF CAMEOS. 


7 


and a knight of many distinguished orders — some made in 
Germany, others of home manufacture — and he frequently 
employed his son’s name as a proper noun which required 
to be qualified by several improper adjectives. It was 
usually made by Sir Montague the center round which the 
harmless lightnings of military profanity played. 

People said it showed that there were some estimable 
points in Cyril Southcote’s nature when he remained on 
speaking terms with his father. 

The simple fact of the matter was that the general, who 
had distinguished himself for the energy with which he 
had suppressed certain native risings, for which his admin- 
istration of the affairs of a particular district was alone 
responsible, believed that there was a heredity in chances 
as well as in genius, and he was, consequently, disappointed 
that his son was not so fortunate as he himself had been in 
running through the gamut of knightly distinctions. 

His son had obtained in the course of ten years several 
diplomatic appointments, but had held none for any length 
of time. He was too clever to be a diplomatist, the chiefs 
under whom he had served were accustomed to assure his 
father, when the general, on hearing of Cyril’s periodic 
reliefs from duty, had associated that name which sounded 
like a musical chord with the elements of the supernatural. 

But in spite of the fact that he was so frequently relieved 
from duty, Cyril managed to spend every penny of the 
liberal allowance made to him by his father, and a good 
deal more besides. It was this that caused Sir Montague 
some irritation. His son endeavored to explain to him 
that observing men and women carefully could not possi- 
bly be called a waste of time. The general declared in 
response that it was the waste of money he objected to ; 
and he was not altogether reassured when he was reminded 
by his son that a complete system of observations, whether 
of the aberrations of heavenly bodies or of earthly, could 


8 


I FORBID THE BANNS! 


not possibly be maintained without the expenditure of 
money. The transit of Venus, he explained — “ The tran- 
sit of Venus ” 

But here his father, who, it was commonly reported, 
knew more than any living man of the aberrations of this 
particular planet, became distinctly discourteous in his 
language, and once more expressed a desire that Cyril 
might be removed by supernatural agency. 

Cyril, however, got all the money he asked for. 

He was now on his way to England, after resigning his 
post of private secretary to the Governor General of the 
Castaway Islands. 

As for the men who were now engaged with a few others 
in dealing out the cards for a game of poker in the smok- 
ing room, they were in the eyes of Cyril Southcote a very 
colorless lot. Waring was a captain in the Bayonetteers, 
and Julian Charlton was a young Englishman who pos- 
sessed a considerable amount of property to which he was 
now returning after traveling over the face of the globe. 
He was perhaps a colorless man. Most white men are. 
He had no subtle theories of life, and he had not spent any 
large sums of money in collecting data that might eventu- 
ally be applied to the solution of all psychological prob- 
lems. He was content to take people as he found them, 
and without asking searching questions. 

Before Cyril Southcote had been more than a few min- 
utes leaning over the steamer’s side, having lighted a fresh 
cigar, feeling that he had shown a considerable amount 
of adroitness — such an amount of adroitness as he was 
justified in expecting from himself — in turning the flying 
fish illustration, that threatened to be a fiasco, to his own 
advantage, he heard a voice beside him. 

What was the subject of that very interesting conver- 
sation that you had with Mr. Charlton and Captain 
Waring ? ” asked an agreeable voice at his elbow. 


OJV THE CUTTING OF CAMEOS. 


9 


“ It was with Charlton I was conversing, Miss Travers,” 
he replied ; “ Captain Waring is an officer of Bayonetteers, 
and therefore does not converse.” 

“ I think he talks more than Mr. Charlton.” 

“ Yes, that is true ; but I said converse.” 

“ You are too subtle for me, Mr. Southcote. But may 
I not know what was the subject that engrossed your 
attention ? ” 

“ Why should you not. Miss Travers ? ” said Cyril, look- 
ing straight into the brown eyes of the girl, with a smile 
that was meant to assure her that he understood her much 
better than she understood herself. “ Why should you 
not ? We were discussing one of the simplest phenomena 
of life.” 

“ You said a good dinner was a phenomenon of life the 
other day,” remarked Miss Travers when he paused. 
“ Were you discussing what curry we shall have to-day ? ” 

“ Oh, something infinitely simpler — merely the phenome- 
non of falling in love.” 

“ Oh ! you call that a phenomenon ? ” 

“ For want of a better name. Can you suggest a 
better ? ” 

“ I would not d^re to try to improve upon a word of 
your selecting, Mr. Southcote. But if it is so very 
simple as you say, what on earth was there to talk about — 
I beg your pardon — to converse about, in regard to such a 
topic ? ” 

Every woman,” said Cyril, “ has a personal interest in 
every conversation that goes on in her neighborhood on 
the subject of falling in love. One should not talk of acci- 
dents in the presence of a railway director.” 

“ I cannot at this moment see what you mean, but I 
have a vague idea that you have said something clever. 
One knows when there is electricity in the air even though 
one is not dazzled by a flash of lightning.” 


lo “/ forbid the BANNS!'* 

** In the phenomenon of falling in love a woman repre- 
sents the precipice.” 

“ I understand now ; I knew it was in the air. But sup- 
pose there is no falling, Mr. Southcote ? ” 

“ Then there is no love — according to my theory.” 

“ Of course — according to your theory.” 

“ Yes, I am no believer in crawling into love. Miss 
Travers. One crawls into friendship — one occasionally 
drifts into matrimony, but in love one falls.” 

“ How nice it must be to be a connoisseur in such 
matters, such as you are, Mr. Southoote — to be able to 
define at a moment’s notice under what letter of the 
alphabet certain incidents in life must be indexed.” 

Cyril did not like the way Miss Travers made this 
remark. It suggested a sneer at his wisdom. 

“ It may, perhaps, be more interesting for you to learn 
that the same view of these matters is not taken by Mr. 
Charlton,” he said in a low tone, after glancing around 
him, as if to satisfy himself that no one but Miss Travers 
could hear his words. 

‘‘ More interesting to me ? ” said the girl in a voice that 
suggested surprise as well as inquiry. “Why should it be 
of any interest to me to learn what Mr. Charlton’s views on 
this or any other subject are ? ” 

“ I cannot tell why it should be so,” replied Cyril, with a 
very good imitation of a Frenchman’s shrug. “ But I can 
assure you that Charlton's profession of faith embraces the 
crawling process. His idea is that gradually and insensi- 
bly — he did not say senselessly — a lad and a lass become 
subject to the influence of that phenomenon which goes by 
the name of love. Now sixteen days must elapse before 
we reach England.” 

“ You speak more incomprehensibly than ever, Mr. 
Southcote,” said Miss Travers. “ It is impossible for any 
ordinary intellect to grasp your meaning — assuming that 


ON THE CUTTING OF CAMEOS. 


II 


you have any meaning to be grasped. You talk about — 
what is it ? — crawling — influence — phenomenon — love — 
goodness knows what — and wind up with a casual remark 
touching the speed of the vessel. Now can you blame me 
for failing to understand your drift ? ” 

“ I would not blame you, even if you did not under- 
stand, Miss Travers,” he replied, with a smile that was 
meant to re-assure her that her soul lay fully exposed to his 
view. 

Miss Travers was irritated by that smile, because she 
knew its meaning. It is almost indecent for a person to 
give you to understand that your soul lies fully exposed to 
his scrutiny. Surely one has a right to claim a little 
privacy for one’s own soul. 

“ I would rather that you remained incomprehensible 
than rude, Mr. Southcote,” said she with quiet dignity ; 
and lest he should have some reply ready — which would be 
extremely irritating — she walked away and reseated her- 
self in her deck chair, and endeavored to become more 
interested than ever in the novel which she had abandoned 
in order to take part in what seemed to be a most profitless 
conversation with Mr. Southcote. 

It so happened, however, that the conversation was not 
profitless, and she was aware of this fact. She was 
extremely interested in whatever views Julian Charlton held 
on the “ phenomenon of love ” — as Mr. Southcote chose to 
call it. Marian Travers was the daughter of a certain 
high commissioner who had been sent out to the Cape to 
settle some question as to the delimitation of native terri- 
tory — a question which was so important that no one at 
the Cape could understand it, consequently the Colonial 
Office was obliged to send out a high commissioner to 
increase its importance — and complexity. The climate of 
Cape Colony suited the somewhat uncertain constitution of 
Colonel Travers. A long residence in India had impaired 


12 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!'* 


his health and had caused him to feel now and again that 
he had seen his best days. He had seen his best days, 
consequently the Colonial Office had appointed him high 
commissioner. 

Miss Travers had met Mr. Charlton at a Government 
House dinner ; then he had dined at the residence of the 
high commissioner and had enjoyed some horse exercise 
with Miss Travers and her father upon the Flats ; and 
when it was understood that Miss Travers was going on a 
visit to England for a month or two in the company of her 
friend Mrs. Howard, the wife of Major Howard of the 
Engineers, and that Mr. Charlton was taking his departure 
by the same steamship, no one at the Cape regarded the 
matter in the light of a remarkable coincidence. 

It is pretty generally understood that the development 
of a certain friendliness between a young man and a maiden 
is largely, but not wholly, dependent upon their environ- 
ment. Miss Travers had not lived for many years in the 
world, but she had lived quite long enough to have become 
fully aware of this fact. She had good reason to believe 
that a friendship which is begun on land may be consoli- 
dated on the sea, even though the element is by no means 
suggestive of consolidation, but just the opposite. She had 
known of instances in which a friendship begun on land 
had developed into something very much stronger on sea. 

All the same, however, it was on the verge of insolence 
for Mr. Southcote to smile at her in the way he had smiled, 
giving her to understand that it was in his power to 
scrutinize her very soul. It would not have been so irrita- 
ting if she could but have felt that he had failed to perceive 
what was on her mind, if not exactly upon her soul. But 
when it so happened that she found it necessary to assure 
herself that Mr. Southcote was a self-conceited coxcomb 
who flattered himself on being so extremely clever that he 
could scrutinize at will the soul of a young woman, when 


ON THE CUTTING OF CAMEOS. 


13 


as a matter of fact his powers were very limited, she knew 
that she did well to be angry. 

She felt, however, that she would be able by her future 
bearing to prove to Mr. Southcote that he was not quite so 
clever as he fancied himself. (She actually believed that 
she could make a man be satisfied that he was less clever 
than he fancied himself to be.) The extraordinary amount 
of attention which she was paying to the novel that lay on 
her knees should, she felt, go far to convince Mr. South- 
cote that he had given himself credit for much more clever- 
ness than he possessed. 

And all this time Mr. Southcote was watching her, but 
without giving the smallest indication of so doing. The 
result of his observation, lasting over twenty minutes, was 
to convince him that the author she had chosen was not 
altogether enthralling. He noticed that she did not turn 
over a page during this space of time. 

He felt that up to the present he had never done full 
justice to his own cleverness. He felt that he was really 
far cleverer than he had ever fancied he was. 

For having been the means of evoking so agreeable a 
reflection, he admired Miss Travers more than he had ever 
done. He had quite forgiven her for having tried to 
appear clever at his expense. 


CHAPTER III. 

ON THE captain’s PROFANITY. 

I T was evening. The dinner in the saloon of the Car- 
narvon Castle had been excellent. In several subtle ele- 
ments it had surpassed even the most remarkable of the 
previous efforts of a cook who was always trustworthy and 
who was occasionally inspired. It was generally admitted 
by the saloon passengers that he had had some moments 
of inspiration during this day. 

This is what the cabin passengers thought of him. The 
second class passengers sneered at him, and occasionally 
grumbled. The seamen invariably growled at him and 
occasionally cursed him. 

The captain was sitting on a deck chair, a pretty little 
girl on a cushion at his feet, with her arm upon his knee. 
Her pretty little mother was on a deck chair placed at an 
acute angle to the captain’s. At exactly the same angle 
on the other side was a Madeira chair in which Mrs. 
Howard — also a pretty woman, but not of the little type 
— was sitting. Further round was a camp stool occupied 
by a girl with very fair hair and large, soft eyes. She was 
the daughter of a gentleman who, having gracefully failed 
at the English bar, was made a judge at the Cape. Her 
name was Lily Joyce. 

The captain had promised the husband of the pretty little 
mother of the pretty little girl to look carefully after both 
mother and daughter on their voyage to England. He 
had promised the judge to look carefully after the young 
lady with the fair hair, and he had been told by Major 
Howard that his wife would look after herself, and that he 


*4 


ON THE CAPTAINS PROFANITY. 15 

would be wise to let her do so. He was now carrying out 
his instructions to the letter. He was an extremely con- 
scientious man to be the commander of a large steamship 
with his heart set on breaking records. He was also a 
cautious man, and he invariably steamed at full speed 
ahead through fogs, for he was so extremely careful of the 
lives of his passengers he would not ask them to remain a 
moment longer than was absolutely necessary in the middle 
of a fog. 

He had had a variety of strange experiences in the course 
of his life. 

He said he had hunted in Leicestershire. 

Some people believed him. 

He had had many opportunities of reading when on long 
voyages, and he had made good use of the time at his 
disposal. He was a diligent, if a desultory reader. 

He held certain theories on the subject of Hamlef s 
madness. 

He never brought his wife on a voyage with him. 

He was now sitting very much at his ease, narrating a 
pleasant little story of how he had fought some hundreds 
of pirates in the cool of an evening in the China seas. This 
was meant for the ear of the little girl on the cushion at his 
feet. At the same time he was replying to the inquiries of 
the judge’s daughter as to the feasibility of the steamer’s 
anchoring alongside the Tower of London in order to give 
her an opportunity of exploring that historic building pre- 
vious to going on to Westminster Abbey by a barge. Miss 
Joyce was under the impression that nearly all the passen- 
ger traffic of the river Thames was conducted on barges, 
with silken canopies aft, and sixteen rowers in fourteenth 
century costumes. Her ideas of the Thames were derived 
from an intimate acquaintance with the pictorial title of 
the Illustrated London News. 

At the same time the captain was recounting to Mrs. 


i6 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


Howard the last scenes in the life of a common friend 
named Captain Timothy O’Connor — he was reported to be 
of Irish extraction — who had been suffering from chronic 
alcoholism and had unfortunately died when on the voyage 
to South Africa to join his regiment. 

It cannot be denied that the captain was fully employed. 

“ Yes, my dear,” he was saying, passing his hand over 
the curls of the little girl, “ it was a curious position for a 
man like myself, who cannot boast of being brave, to be 
placed in. But when I found that I could not run away, I 
made up my mind to sell my life dearly. I was at 
the maintop of the bark when those yellow ruffians 
scrambled on board. There were, I should say, three 
hundred of them, more or less, all armed to the teeth. I 
took a steady aim with my revolver, and their chief was 
seen to throw up his arms as he fell back to the water. 
His lieutenant rushed forward to break in the door of the 
deck house where I had locked my passengers. Once 
again I took aim ; the ball passed through his chest and, 
striking the brass handle of the door, knocked down an 
enormous Malay who had found an ax and was in the act 

of I beg your pardon. Miss Joyce? Oh, yes, I would 

strongly advise you not to go to an hotel in the Minories 
for the sake of being near the Tower. I am sure your 
friends live further west, and they can take you there any 
day. And so, my dear, the fight went on for some hours, 
not one of the savages having the least idea that the shots 
were coming from the maintop. They were being thinned 
down a bit toward the sunset, and what a sunset it was ! 
But there was a single cloud. It sickened me, my child, 
for it was just the color of blood, and I have always been 
absurdly sensitive in these matters. The ghastly faces of 
the hundred and fifty — more or less — Malays that were lying 

on the deck, just as I am this minute — that is, I mean 

I really cannot agree with you, Mrs. Howard ; I don’t 


ON THE CAPTAINS PROFANITY. 


17 


think the surgeon was so much to blame. It is a most 
difficult thing to say what should be the exact point to 
which one should reduce the drink of a man who has 
accustomed himself to a quart of Irish whisky a day. It 
is a delicate question, especially when that man meets 
the steward carrying a bottle of brandy and holds a 
revolver at his head until the transfer is made. It was 
that last bottle of brandy that did for poor O’Connor, Mrs. 
Howard. He locked himself in his cabin, and after half 
an hour we heard him singing in a slightly husky way a 
song called the ‘ Cruiskeen Lawn.* What do you say. Miss 
Joyce — Mme. Tussaud’s? Certainly, it is a place where 
ladies are constantly seen. No, I don’t think you can go 
to it by the river. I beg your pardon, dear, I am not for- 
getting you. Well, the sight of that blood-red cloud made 

me feel God bless my soul ! What’s that ? ” 

The captain had started up, for there sounded over the 
deck the noise of an explosion and the hissing of escaping 
steam. Up through the engine house gratings there came 
dense clouds of vapor. The captain made for the engine 
room companion and plunged into the arms of the chief 
engineer, who was rushing up the iron steps. Then the 
propeller ceased churning up the water astern, and the 
steam began to blow off by the legitimate pipe. Both the 
captain and engineer vanished in the clouds that rolled up 
from the motionless machinery. 


CHAPTER IV. 


ON ITALIAN PROVERBS. 



HE passengers on the deck of the Carnarvon Castle were 


1 alert. Here at last was a Topic. With a topic life 
aboard an ocean liner assumes a freshness which passen- 
gers have long ceased to associate with life. It is the 
absence of a topic that causes so much nonsense to be 
talked on the ocean. 

It is a certain rule of life that when a man has exhausted 
every available topic of conversation with a woman, he tells 
her that he loves her. Sometimes, when the woman is 
unmarried, he asks her to marry him. It is the instinct of 
The Male, evolutionists tell us. He feels that he must 
make himself interesting to The Other. He tries to do so, 
and probably succeeds so long as a topic remains. When 
the last is exhausted he is in despair. It is then that his 
instinct tells him that by assuring her that he loves her he 
succeeds in making himself quite interesting in her eyes. 

The accidental shipment of a man suffering from an 
hereditary disease known as Delirium Tremens prevented 
the passengers aboard a steamer in which I once took a 
voyage from feeling solitary. He had a trick of creeping 
out of his berth with a knife at nights that was extremely 
enlivening. We bad a clever young surgeon aboard, and he 
cured the man. 

Before we reached land we had all proposed to one 
another. 

The passengers aboard the Carnarvon Castle perceived in 
a moment that a Topic had at last come to them. Even if 
no more harm had occurred than the bursting of 4 3team 


ON ITALIAN PROVERBS. 


19 


pipe it would, if used economically, provide conversation for 
the remainder of the voyage. 

Cyril SoLithcote saw that Julian Charlton made his way to 
where Miss Travers was standing holding the ship’s rail 
with her right hand, while her left was pressed to her side. 
Her face was somewhat pale, but the expression upon it was 
one of anxiety rather than actual fear. She looked very 
statuesque at the moment when Charlton hurried to her side. 

Cyril saw this from his seat at the lee of the deck house. 
He had not left his seat when all the other passengers had 
started up and had hastened to where the captain had dis- 
appeared — all except the more cautious ones, who had placed 
themselves within easy reach of the boats. Mr. Southcote 
was not impulsive. He knew that he would learn soon 
enough what had actually happened. 

“You are not frightened,” said Charlton as he approached. 

It was about an even chance, Cyril thought, whether 
Charlton would offer his hand to Miss Travers or forbear. 
That offering of the hand would, he felt, be the appropriate 
dramatic gesture to accompany the inquiry. 

Charlton forbore. 

“No, I don’t think I am frightened,” replied the girl. 
“ I don’t think that I am frightened — now.” 

Cyril heard the words. He noticed the little pause that 
gave unmistakable emphasis to the “ now.” Surely Charlton 
would offer her the protecting symbol of his hand at this 
point. 

Julian Charlton did nothing of the kind. 

“ You are right not to be frightened. Nothing has hap- 
pened of any consequence.” 

“ But the engines have stopped.” 

“ Of course ; but that is nothing to cause one to be 
alarmed. I believe that only a small steam pipe is leaking. 
The engineer has turned off the steam to prevent the pipe 
from bursting.” 


20 


/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


“ It does not sound very formidable, does it, Mr. Charl- 
ton ? ” said Miss Travers after a pause. 

“ It is quite a trifle, I am certain,” said he. “ Nothing 
ever happens aboard these big steamers.” 

“ Is it possible that there is a tone of regret in your 
voice ? ” said the girl. “ Why do you want things to be 
happening ? ” 

“ I don’t,” said he. I want things to jog along as quietly 
as possible. Jogging along is true happiness, if people only 
knew it.” 

“ So the Italians think: ‘ Qui va piano va sano, you know.” 

“ They are right.” 

And yet the Italians are not much given to taking long 
voyages in ocean liners.” 

“ No ; they have reasons of their own which outweigh the 
prospect of a quiet voyage. People who eat quantities of 
olives, and swallow macaroni stewed in grease and garlic 
are not ideal passengers by sea.” 

“ Mrs. Howard does not seem to possess much of the 
Italian’s wisdom who invented the proverb,” remarked Miss 
Travers. “ She has been rushing between this and the 
fringe of the crowd round the engine room companion since 
the accident.” 

Mrs. Howard was going neither softly nor wisely. She 
gave one the impression of being decidedly alarmed. She 
was hurrying past Marian Travers when she heard her name 
spoken. 

“ What do you say ? ” she cried. “ How can you stand 
there as if nothing had occurred, when perhaps the boiler or 
something has burst ? ” 

“ We were discussing the proverbial philosophy of the 
Latin races,” said Julian Charlton. “We find that their 
proverbs are opposed to hurry and nervousness.” 

“ Don’t be absurd. Have you any idea of what has hap- 
pened ? Did you ever see such ridiculous fools as those 


ON ITALIAN PROVERBS, 


21 


people make of themselves crowding round the engine room 
companion ? I tried to force my way through them to see 
what was actually the matter ; but they stood firm. It is 
the boiler, I suppose. Where would that cloud of steam have 
come from if not from the boiler, I should like to know ?” 

“ I don’t; think it is the boiler,” said Charlton. “ When 
a boiler bursts people in its immediate neighborhood are, as 
a rule, left free from all doubt as to what has happened.” 

“ But something burst. And the captain cried out ‘God 
bless my soul ! ’ Surely that counts for something ? ” 

“ Certainly, unless the same recording angel is the officer 
of the day as the one who did duty when my uncle Toby 
swore,” said Charlton. 

“Your uncle Toby? Don’t talk nonsense. You have 
no uncle Toby. What has your uncle Toby to do with the 
angels, and what have the angels to do with the captain ? 
He said ‘ God bless my soul ! ’ distinctly. Look at those 
idiots standing beside that boat as if they were waiting for 
it to be launched. What fools people do become when 
anything unusual happens ! I don’t suppose it is much, 
after all. Why don’t you force your way through 
that crowd and find out if anyone is killed ? I never 
saw a funeral at sea. I believe it is extremely picturesque 
and touching, and all that sort of thing. Are you not inter- 
ested in this business, Mr. Charlton ?” 

“ Not in the least, Mrs. Howard. If anything serious 
has happened we shall know about it soon enough.” 

“ There is Mr. Southcote,” said Marian with malice in 
her heart. “ He knows everything that happens in heaven 
above, and in the engine room befieath, and in the waters 
under the ship — or at least he fancies he does. He will 
satisfy you, Mrs. Howard, you may be sure.” 

“ You think so ? Then I will go to him. Ah, it is at 
such a time as this that a woman misses her husbnad most 
deeply. If poor Vincent were but here he would have 


22 


FORBID THE BANNS t 


found out all long ago. This suspense is worse than a 
fever. If we are forced to take to the boats, Marian, don’t 
forget to fetch your spirits of wine for the curling tongs’ 
lamp. I used my last drop this morning.” 

She hurried across the deck to where Cyril was still 
seated. He had heard what Marian had said, and he pre- 
pared for the worst. 

There were few people whom he could not repel with a 
well-directed epigram. 

“ Mr. Southcote,” cried Mrs. Howard, “ why did the 
captain shout ‘ God bless my soul ’ ? ” 

“ For the same reason the engineer turned the steam off 
the boiler with a rush into the safety valve, Mrs. Howard 
— to relieve the pressure due to circumstances.” 

“ Is this a time to be clever ? What on earth do you 
mean ? ” 

“ Profanity is the safety valve of human nature, Mrs. 
Howard,” said Cyril. 

The lady gazed at him vacantly for a moment and then 
turned right round without a word and made for the sur- 
geon, who had just come up from the engine room, and was 
pleasantly mopping his face. 

“ Doctor, I am distracted with the cleverness of people, 
and I have come to you for a change. You are a sensible 
man ; tell me, in one word, what has happened. Is it the 
boiler, or something else ? Is anyone dead below ? Are 
we to return to the Cape, or to go on to England ? ” 

“ In one word, Mrs. Howard,” said the surgeon, 
“ precious little has happened to disturb anyone. It is not 
the boiler, but something else. No one is particularly hurt, 
and I believe we shall be on our way to England, home, 
and beauty in half an hour.” 

And yet the captain cried ‘ God bless my soul ! ’ ” 

“ Then in his name I retract the expression,” said the 
surgeon. 


CHAPTER V. 


ON THE ORIGIN OF A MAN. 

''T''HE captain followed the surgeon up from the engine 
1 room in about half an hour, and the chief engineer, look- 
ing very grimy, put in an appearance shortly afterward, and 
went straight to the cook’s galley. He got a small piece of 
raw beefsteak from the cook, and returned, holding it to 
his left temple. He went down once again to the engine 
room, and the steam continued blowing off through the 
escape pipe. 

“ He has got a black eye,” remarked one of the passen- 
gers, who kept their gaze riveted upon the engineer until 
he had disappeared. “ Yes, you’ll find it will be purple to- 
morrow, and a pale yellow the day after — I know every 
change pretty well — until it fades away into one of the 
new Liberty tints. There’s nothing like raw beefsteak for 
hurrying up the colors.” 

Sure enough, the chromatic alternations predicted by 
the passenger took “place with the utmost precision in the 
region of the engineer’s left temple. The next day his 
forehead was like a tropical sunset as described by Mr. 
Clark Russell more than once, and these splendors gradu- 
ally dissolved into a delicate saffron. 

Meantime, however, the exact nature of the occurrence 
in the engine room had been found out by the passengers. 
One of the steam tubes had burst, the captain explained to 
his numerous questioners. The damage was insignificant ; 
but to make the repairs it was necessary that the ship 
should proceed at half speed and anchor at the island 
of St. Helena for the greater part of a day. The trifling 


■23 


FORBID THE BANNS/ 


i4 

injury done to the chief engineer’s forehead comprised the 
entire list of casualities due to the accident. 

The explanation satisfied all the passengers except two. 
The first was a gentleman who had tuned the piano, the 
second was a gentleman who had repaired a sewing 
machine a lady had aboard, which had failed to work as it 
should. It was not to be expected that two such mechan- 
ical experts would be satisfied with an explanation that 
v/as not fundamentally technical. 

They shook their heads and whispered together every 
evening after dinner ; and they hoped that all aboard 
would gather that, though they refrained from bringing 
against the captain any direct charge of deceiving the 
passengers, still, if it came to a Board of Trade inquiry, 
they 

They continued shaking their heads. 

It was only on the second morning after the accident 
that the island of St. Helena came in sight of the ship’s 
company of the Carnarvon Castle; but owing to the fact 
that the steamer was going only at half speed, several 
hours had passed before the sound of the heavy plunge of 
the waves along the base of the great cliffs that make the 
island an ideal prison for a person whose aspirations take 
the form of the conquest of Europe, was heard. 

The vessel steamed within a biscuit-throw of the southern 
cliffs. They are not much to look at ; but these cliffs can 
never be approached without interest, except by such 
persons as are altogether wanting in imagination. The 
sound of a bugle rang out from one of the forts under 
which the steamer was passing, and the figures of a few 
soldiers were seen on the roadway cut in the face of the 
cliffs. 

On a deck chair on the steamer sat a youth who, at the 
first mention of the name of St. Helena, had unearthed 
from his traveling library a volume of Byron. He was 


ON THE ORIGIN OF A MAN. 25 

now engaged in reading for an admiring circle of yawning 
girls the poem commencing 

’Tis done, but yesterday a king. 

It is a tolerably lengthy poem, but the youth droned it out 
to the very end. 

It was very fine, the girls declared. 

It was scarcely clearly understood that the verses 
referred to Napoleon Bonaparte. 

Some of the listeners had an idea that the author had, 
late in life, written a very clever play called “ Our Boys.” 
Others were under the impression that the verses referred 
to the late Emperor of the French. 

All were unanimous in pronouncing the poem very fine 
indeed ; and they sprang to their feet when it came to an 
end, and left the reader alone upon his deck chair. 

While the faint mumblings of the man at the ode 
mingled with the solemn response of the man at the wheel 
as the captain sang out his instructions, Cyril Southcote 
was smoking a cigar with his back to the bulwarks of the 
ship and the bulwarks of the island. 

“ For the first time,” said he, “ I begin to realize the 
exact spirit in which the schoolboy who was asked ‘ What 
is an ode ?’ replied ‘ Something that’s odious.’ ” 

It is very funny,” said Miss Travers, who had long ago 
thought it prudent to forget that Mr. Southcote had offended 
her by reading her soul without first asking her permission. 
“ It is very funny ! Listen to the combination.” 

The elements of drollery were certainly to be noticed in 
the mingling of the lines of the poet and the litany of the 
pilot. The steamer was rounding a point while the reader 
was warming to his work. The result of a blending of the 
voices was somewhat droll. 

It is very funny,” said Julian Charlton. ‘‘Are you 
going ashore when we let go the anchor. Miss Travers ? ” 


26 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS 

Miss Travers replied that her guardian, Mrs. Howard, 
had made up her mind to pay a visit to the commanding 
officer of Engineers at James’ Town, and his wife, and 
intended taking Miss Travers with her on this strictly pro- 
fessional enterprise. 

“And you, diplomatist — are you going ashore?” Charl- 
ton asked of Cyril. 

The diplomatist declared with a laugh that he meant to 
remain aboard the steamer, the fact being that the deputy 
governor of the island was one of the many administrators 
whom Mr. Southcote had governed in the capacity of 
private secretary. There was a tradition at the Colonial 
Office that whenever the Secretary of State for that depart- 
ment bore a marked grudge against any administrator, he 
sent out Cyril Southcote to be his private secretary. 

It was generally admitted that any minister for the 
colonies who would desire a worse fate to befall his bitter- 
est enemy than to have Mr. Southcote sent to him as pri- 
vate secretary, would indeed be implacable. 

“ I can without difficulty imagine a scheme of happiness 
that does not include paying a visit to any place within the 
sphere of influence — that is a strictly diplomatic phrase — of 
Sir Ebenezer.” 

These were the exact words employed by Mr. Southcote 
to explain how it was impossible for him to go ashore at 
James’ Town. 

Miss Travers laughed most agreeably, and in a very 
joyous way, when he had spoken. She had no trouble what- 
ever in laughing joyously when Mr. Southcote had made 
use of, or fancied he had made use of, some phrase embody- 
ing an exquisite slight. 

She never again so far forgot herself as to be clever 
before him. It was far better to laugh joyously at his clev- 
erness. 

But when he was out of hearing she ventured to express 


ON THE ORIGIN OF A MAN. 


27 


some surprise that the authorities should exercise so strict 
a supervision over the visitors to the island as necessitated 
the attendance of the deputy governor in person at the 
gates to scrutinize the face of every applicant for admis- 
sion. 

“ Let us hope it is not quite so bad as that,” said Charl- 
ton. “ I am inclined to think that Mr. Southcote rather 
overestimates the extent of the political significance which 
would attach to an incidental visit-of his to St. Helena.” 

“ It would be of imperial importance, Mr. Charlton,” 
said Miss Travers, with a little smile. “And you,” she 
added after he had laughed in sympathy, “ do not intend 
to make the attempt to pass the scrutiny of Sir Ebenezer ? ” 

“ 1 certainly do,” he replied. “ To me that island beside 
us has a singular interest.” 

“What, you a Bonapartist — an Illegitimist ? Why, I 
fancied that all young men nowadays were ardent Repub- 
licans — except, of course, those who have something to 
gain by being Monarchists or Imperialists.” 

“ I assure you my interest in the place is quite personal,” 
said he. “ It is painfully personal, in fact, since it begins 
and ends with myself.” 

“ You have invested the matter with such an air Of 
mystery — of secrecy — that one longs to learn what is its 
origin. If you say that the reason of your interest in the 
island is a secret, my longing to penetrate it will be abso- 
lutely irresistible.” 

“ There is not much of a secret about the matter. Miss 
Travers ; and as for the mystery — well, I suppose that, as 
the matter has a distinct bearing upon what Southcote calls 
the phenomenon of love, we must, out of deference to his 
judgment, think of it in the light of a mystery.” 

“ Deeper and deeper still,” said Marian. “ I am now 
almost afraid to ask you to reveal anything. I wish I were 
well out of the business. Never mind ; I will only ask you 


2 $ 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


what the ‘ it ’ refers to, when you say that you must look 
atMt’ in the light of a mystery.” 

I will tell you all, Miss Travers, as the women say in the 
melodramas when the author is anxious to have his last scene 
brought up to date. The ‘ it ’ refers simply to an incident 
that has always had a certain amount of interest for me — 
namely, the first meeting of my father and mother. It was, 
curiously enough, on one of these rocks that they met.” 

“ How very interesting ! ” 

“ To me, yes ; but to no one else in the world.” 

Except the one to whom you are now talking. Think, 
if you were not holding me enthralled with your story 
I should be compelled to talk to — I mean, to listen to, Mr. 
Southcote. A conversation with Mr. Southcote is a mono- 
logue entertainment. Pray tell me all you know of that 
idyl of the island. Indeed I am interested in it.” 

“ There is nothing more to be told. My father was a cap- 
tain of artillery, my mother was the daughter of a general 
officer who had come to inspect or to do something in that 
way at the island. He was inspecting one day at a fort at the 
heac^ of a cliff where there is a ladder — ‘ Jacob’s Ladder ’ 
Thomas Atkins has called it, with a stroke of that graceful 
fancy which he has at his command. Well, the general’s 
daughter climbed up that ladder — it doesn’t sound quite 
right, does it ? — and at the top, where she expected to meet 
her father, she became enveloped in a mi.st. She wandered 
about for a while until she made up her mind that she had 
come upon the right track. She was walking briskly along — 
straight for the brink of the cliff ; in two seconds she would 
have stepped into eternity. She didn’t ; she stepped into 
the arms of my father instead. He had also been lost in the 
mist, but having no father to look after he had wisely 
refrained from taking a step in anyn direction. That’s the 
whole story. It ha?s a suspicion of romance.” 

“ Oh, you have not half told the story,” cried Miss Travers. 


ON THE ORIGIN OF A MAN. 


29 


‘ You have said nothing about the general’s opposition to 
the suit of the penniless captain of artillery, who found it 
difficult to live within the limits of his pay — how the young 
couple stole aboard a steamer that carried a chaplain, and 
got married the day they left the island, and the irate father 
standing on a cliff shaking his fist at the smoke of the steamer 
that dwindled away in the distance.” 

“I have not your imagination. Miss Travers,” said he. 
“ The fact of the matter was that the general was a poor man 
and my father had some thousands a year besides his pay of 
eleven and eightpe’nce a day. The marriage took place in 
England after the lapse of a year, and^ — well, here I am.” 

“And there,” said Miss Travers as the steamer rounded 
a point — “ there is Jacob’s Ladder.” 

Charlton turned about — he had been standing with his 
back to the bulwarks — and saw on the starboard quarter 
of the steamer a precipitous cliff with a stairway built up its 
face and with a flagstaff at the summit. On the opposite 
side of the deep valley were equally precipitous cliffs, and 
in the far depths of the valley appeared the spire of a church. 
The tinkle of the engine room telegraph brought the pro- 
peller to a standstill. Then a seaman who was calling out 
the soundings was heard all over the vessel. 

“ Let go,” sang out the captain, and the roar of the chain 
cable rushing out swallowed up all other words. 

The Carnarvon Castle lay beneath the grim shadow of the 
island, rising and falling as the waves rushed under her keel 
and swirled about the blades of the motionless propeller. 

“ That is Jacob’s Ladder indeed,” said Charlton. 

“ It is Jacob’s Ladder indeed,” said Mr. Southcote, coming 
behind him. “ But you will have difficulty in discovering 
the angels ascending and descending upon it.” 

“ There are certainly no angels, so far as I can see,” said 
Marian. 

“No, just the opposite — soldiers,” said Cyril. 


CHAPTER VI. 


ON AN OCEAN ISLAND. 

AT the summit of the cliffs attained by that wooden stair- 
l\ way two persons were standing side by side looking 
out to that great, barren waste of waters of which the island 
seemed the center. In the little harbor that toy steamer 
of six thousand tons, the Carnarvon Castle^ lay at anchor, 
surrounded by some chips of boats. 

One of these two persons was Julian Charlton, the other 
was a girl whose name he had never heard, and whose face 
he had never seen except for the space of the last half 
hour. 

She was young, and she seemed beautiful to Charlton 
when he had first seen her. Even after the lapse of half 
an hour she seemed beautiful to him. 

The breeze which blows over some thousands of miles 
of the Atlantic Ocean to the summit of Ladder Hill, St. 
Helena, is so fresh that, when one has breathed its fullness 
for a few minutes, nothing in the world seems to be fresh 
in comparison. Even the sunset, which has usually a cer- 
tain freshness about it, appears a bizarre and meretricious 
effect when viewed from this place. 

And yet when Julian Charlton had swallowed more great 
draughts of the breeze, he looked at the girl’s face and found 
it as sweet to look upon as it ever had been since it had first 
come upon his view half an hour before. 

They were not exchanging a word. They were only stand- 
ing side by side drinking in the breeze with the placid enjoy- 
ment of educated topers. 

“ It was worth coming for,” said the girl at length as if she 


30 


ON AN OCEAN ISLAND. 


31 


were a connoisseur of air, pronouncing an opinion upon 
a special breeze that had been recommended to her for 
purity and body combined with bouquet. “ Do you not 
think that it was worth coming for I ” she inquired of her 
companion. 

He turned from looking into the fresh breeze and looked 
into her fresh face. 

^*Yes,” he replied. “I certainly do think that it was 
worth coming for.” 

But there is nothing to see here,” she cried. “ They 
told us there was a splendid view from the summit. But 
there really is nothing to see here.” 

“Not out at sea, at any rate,” said he. 

“ And certainly not in the scenery of these cliffs,” 
she added. “ There is not much here beyond what we call 
scrub in Australia.” 

“You have come from Australia, then,” said he in a tone 
of inquiry. 

“ I was born there and I have never been away from it 
until now. There is nothing to be ashamed of in that ; so 
far as I have seen of the world, we in Australia are quite 
in the front rank of civilization. My father was a convict.” 

She made the latter statement as if it were actually the 
strongest piece of evidence that could be brought forward 
in proof of the advanced position of civilization in Aus- 
tralia. Then she paused, apparently for him to make some 
reply. 

He had no reply ready. Young men do not as a rule go 
about the world with an answer in readiness for such 
young ladies as announce that their fathers were convicts. 

He did not even say “ Indeed ! ” or “ Poor old chap ! ” 

At the same time he refrained from giving any start, or 
from manifesting any surprise, and in the exercise of such 
self-control he considered that he had done pretty well. 

It was some time before it occurred to him that it would, 


32 


‘*7 FORBID THE BANNS! 


Strictly speaking, have showed better taste on his part if 
he had expressed some little surprise at the young lady’s 
announcement. It is, after all, not quite polite to say to a 
young lady who tells you that her father was a convict, 
“ I’m not in the least surprised to hear it.” 

And yet if he had not actually said those words, he had 
at least implied them. 

There was a little flush upon her face that was not 
exactly of the tint laid on so delicately by the breeze. 

“ I beg your pardon,” she said. “ It is absurd of me to 
talk to you in this way. What does it matter to you who 
my father was ? ” 

“ Nothing whatever,” he replied. “ It affects me in no 
way.” 

“ I am glad of that. I did not mean to boast about my 
father.” 

Did she actually mean to imply that she believed a cer- 
tain distinction was conferred upon a young woman who 
chanced to have a convict for a father ? he wondered. 

‘‘ I am just returning from visiting Australia,” said he, 
with some anxiety to turn the conversation into another 
channel, “ and I assure you that I was greatly impressed 
with all that I heard and saw. You have every reason to 
be proud of your country.” 

“ But I’m not,” she cried. I hate it. The people have 
become civilized into narrow-mindedness. You carried your 
dress clothes about with you, I suppose.” 

“ I admit that I did so, wherever it was practicable.” 

“ Then you would get on all right. You should just 
see the way they look at a man who forgets to put on a 
dress coat when he is asked to quite a friendly little 
dinner.” 

“ Why should they look at him so ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; I think they fancy he means to slight 
them. They are terribly suspicious that everyone they 


ON AN OCEAN ISLAND. 33 

meet wants to slight them. They have their own reasons 
for it.” 

“ And yet you think Australia is in the front rank of 
civilized countries ? ” 

“ I was afraid you were going to abuse it. I don’t like 
to hear strangers run it down.” 

“ You allow no one to speak ill of it except yourself ? ” 

“ Exactly so. You see, I know all its strong points as 
well as its weaknesses. I have a right to speak. The 
people are narrow-minded and full of prejudices, and I’m 
glad that I’m going to England.” 

“ Where you will find the parent stem from which all 
the branches and twigs and leaves of prejudice and narrow- 
mindedness have spread abroad even to Australia.” 

“ What, you mean to tell me that people in England are 
narrow-minded ? ” 

“ I can assure you that you will find the parent stem a 
good deal thicker than any of the branches.” 

The girl looked at him steadily for a few moments. 
Then she gave a little scornful laugh. 

“I’m fond of gardening,” said she. “I'll find out all 
about that parent stem that you talk about. I thank you 
very much for having taken charge of me to the top of the 
ladder. I’ll just run down the steps to poor Aunt 
Hannah.” 

“ If you will allow me I will go down by your side,” said 
he. 

“ But I thought you came up here for a purpose,” 
remarked the girl. 

“ For a purpose?” 

“ I mean, I thought you were perhaps one of the 
soldiers — an officer — and that you were going to the fort 
up here.” 

“ I am only a civilian,” he replied. “But, to tell you the 
truth, I did come for a purpose.” 


34 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!" 


“ Of course ; so I can quite easily run down the steps 
alone." 

“ Pray do not do so for one moment," said the man. “ I 
hope you will not think me impudent if I ask you to play a 
part in a little drama with me just at this place. Don’t 
think me a lunatic escaped from my keeper when I ask you 
to be good enough to walk toward me when I stand just 
beside that pointed rock at the edge of the cliff." 

“ It sounds mysterious," said the girl. “ But I don’t 
believe that you are a lunatic, and I’ll walk toward you — 
not close to the brink, however." 

Thank you," said he. 

He went across the undulating ground covered with 
vegetation distinctly of the type ‘scrub,’ and soon reached 
a rock with a spire-like point at one end and an even sur- 
face resembling the seat ^of a chair at the opposite end. 
Here he stopped and raised his hand. 

The girl, with a laugh, stepped out briskly to where he 
stood motionless. 

She was tall and beautifully shaped, and she held her 
head high in the air as though she were listening for some 
voice to speak to her from above. 

As she walked the strong breeze blowing from the sea 
forced her garments against her body and held them there 
until every delicate curve was suggested. It also loosened 
one of the strands of her hair and sent it flowing behind her. 

He watched her. 

A dozen steps brought her face to face with him. 

She paused and looked up to his face, with a little flush 
on her own, and laughed as a child laughs in the middle 
of one of those formal games that children love. 

“ Well," she cried. 

“ Thank you," said he ; “ you gave me your hand when 
we were climbing the ladder — will you give it to me once 
again ?" 


ON AN OCEAN ISLAND. 


35 


“ Certainly,” she replied, putting her hand frankly into 
his. He held it for an instant with his eyes fixed gravely 
on her face. “ And now,” she added when he had dropped 
her hand, “you will, I am sure, tell me why you asked 
me to do all this. If you do not tell me I shall feel 
that I have been extremely silly. It is bad enough to be 
silly, but it is heartrending to feel that one has been 
silly.” 

“ That is quite true,” said he. “ I do not think you 
have need to reproach yourself in this case. It was a 
curious fate that led me to this place, to this very spot, to 
this rock with its flat surface and its curious spire. I seem 
to have known it all my life, though I have never been 
here before. It would be interesting to know how much 
of his own recollections a father transmits to his son in 
the same way that he transmits, in the most friendly 
spirit — say, the gout or epilepsy.” 

“ It would be extremely interesting,” said she, “ if the 
person who made the communication to you was not 
discursive, and inclined to stray from his text, other- 
wise ” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said he. “ It was at this very spot 
thirty-one years ago that a man stood, while a beautiful girl 
walked toward him just as you have done. That man was 
my father, and the girl became my mother. They had 
never seen one another previously. It was in a mist, and 
if she had not walked into his arms she should certainly 
have -gone over the brink of the cliff. I heard the story 
when I was a boy, and I was anxious to realize the scene 
now that Fate had led me to this place.” 

“ And have you succeeded in realizing it ? ” 

“ I have succeeded amply. I suppose it was part of the 
cunningly laid scheme of Fate that I should be given the 
means of realizing the scene that took place here so many 
years ago.” 


36 


“/ FORBID THE BA HNS!** 


You made a pilgrimage to this place, I suppose, in 
order to realize the scene.” 

*‘Not I. The steamer was on its way to England when 
the machinery broke down, two days ago, necessitating the 
captain's calling at St. Helena for repairs. Of course as 
the chance — as I called it — came to me, I took a boat 
ashore and — well, you know the rest.” 

She nodded, with her eyes looking, not as they had been, 
into his face, but out to where the sun was sinking into the 
sea, out of a cloudless sky. 

“ Fate,” she said, as if she were communing with herself. 

Fate.” Then she looked at her companion. “ It is very 
flattering to one’s sense of one’s own importance in the 
world — in the universe, I should say — to feel that there is a 
power that puts itself to a large amount of trouble to do 
one a good turn — or a bad turn, as the case may be. You 
call that power Fate, do you not ? ” 

“Yes,” said he. “ I call everything that happens Fate. 
It saves one a lot of trouble.” 

“ You are not so reverent as Count Cenci,” said she ; 
“he referred everything to Heaven.”- 

“ Count Cenci lived in an age when theology was an 
exact science,” said he. 

“ And we are the subjects of the greatest Mohammedan 
state that has ever existed in the world,” said she. “ Sup- 
pose we descend to level ground again — in every sense. 
My aunt will think that she is being treated very badly. 
She will forget that it is Fate that is doing it all. She will 
only blame us. Such is the blindness of middle-aged per- 
sons who have attended Sunday school during the early 
years of their life, and class the Mohammedans among the 
heathen. My aunt remains on the plain, while we are on 
the heights.” 

“You are the most singular girl I have ever met,” said 
he. “ What is your name ? ” 


ON AN OCEAN ISLAND. 


37 


“ My name is Bertha Lancaster ; and yours ? " 

“ Charlton — Julian Charlton. Now we are fairly on our 
way to a low level.” 

Almost in silence they descended that extraordinary 
stairway together. Before they had completed half their 
journey the sunset guns from the fort had sent the wild 
echoes flying from cliff to cliff. By the time they had 
reached the last steps the little town was wrapped in dim- 
ness. The lights of the shipping in the harbor were quiver- 
ing over the waves. 

On entering the hotel they were met by a rather stout, 
middle-aged lady wearing a bonnet, the strings of which 
were flying very wildly. 

“You have been a long time, Bertha,” said she ; “a long 
time. A steamer has called at the island, and I have 
secured berths for the voyage to England. Miriam and I 
have been packing for the past half hour. We must be 
aboard to-night, the agent says.” 

“ What is the name of the steamer, aunt ? ” asked the 
girl. 

“The Carnarvon Castle*' 

“ Why, that is the steamer by which I am on my way to 
England,” cried Charlton. “We shall be fellow- pas- 
sengers.” 

There was undoubtedly a tone of exultation in the way he 
made this announcement. 

The girl did not give any sign of joy, however. On the 
contrary, she turned pale and seemed distressed. There 
was a silence that lasted for close upon a minute. It was 
broken by a laugh from the girl — a little laugh with some- 
thing of scorn in its rfpples. When it had ended her face 
was not pale, but rosy. 

J ulian Charlton had an uneasy feeling that there was some- 
thing of defiance in her laugh. 

Who could it be — what could it be that she was defying ? 


38 


“7 FORBID THE BANNS/ 


There was perhaps this inquiry in the expression of his 
face, for she turned to him quickly, saying : 

“ Mr. Charlton, as it is decreed by — by my aunt, that we 
are to be companions for some time, I must confess that I led 
you astray in what I said about my father. It is quite true 
that he was an Australian convict ; he was sentenced to 
twenty years’ transportation for a forgery of which he was 
innocent. Six months after he arrived at the convict station 
they found the man who was really guilty and they gave 
my father a free pardon for the crime he had not committed, 
and a thousand pounds to compensate him. I assure you 
I have found that phrase, ‘my father was a convict,’ 
extremely useful in weeding out all false friends — especially 
in Australia.” 

“And you hoped to weed me out as well ? ” 

“ I have asked you' to pardon me.” 

“ I can do so with a clear conscience, not having been 
weeded out.” 

“ Now we can plant our feet firmly on the ground,” said 
she. “ We are on a low level, not on the heights.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


ON THE LIEBIG PRINCIPLE. 

T he middle-aged lady with the flying bonnet-strings, that 
suggested earnest packing of trunks, had been found 
two hours before, sitting in a very forlorn attitude and breath- 
ing very hard, on one of the steps of Jacob’s Ladder by 
Julian Charlton as he made the ascent. She had only 
mounted about sixty steps, but clearly that sixty had been 
enough for her. She looked very forlorn as she clutched 
the hand rail, and was quite oblivious to the fact that she was 
displaying an entire boot of a rather large size, with elastic 
sides considerably worn, and quite three inches of woolen 
stocking, resembling in its creases the folds of a fasting boa 
constrictor. 

Mr. Charlton did not laugh when he came upon this 
picture. He raised his hat as he made the attempt to step 
over the prominent boot that rested on the plank of the stair- 
way beneath that on which the lady was sitting. 

She looked at him rather anxiously, and then glanced up 
the long slope of steps that suggested a drawing book 
illustration of the principles of perspective. Charlton could 
see in outline against the sky a figure that did not seem any- 
thing like so stout as the obstruction in front of him. 

“ Sir,” sobbed the obstructive lady, and then continued 
sobbing for breath, until Mr. Charlton wondered how the 
hooks and eyes of her jacket could stand the strain. They 
were creaking audibly. “ Sir.” After a few minutes she 
was able to say a word or two — mostly monosyllables — and 
to let Mr. Charlton know that she and her niece had 
attempted the ascent of the ladder. “ She said it would be 


39 


40 “/ FORBID THE BANNS 

good fun,” remarked the lady ruefully. “ Maybe she found 
it so. I didn’t. There she is up there, here am I where she 
left me to rest. I promised to follow her when I had rested. 
Sir, I will never follow her. Perhaps if you are going up 
you would be good enough to tell her that her aunt — I am her 
aunt, Mrs. Hardy is my name — will return to the hotel and 
wait for her there. Tell her to take great care how she comes 
back. It must be awful coming back. Maybe you would 
look after her, sir. She is a fatherless and motherless girl, 
and I am her aunt.” 

This list of the girl’s misfortunes was plainly stated by 
the lady to inspire the pity of the stranger. The plan was 
a distinct success. 

He looked at the aunt and had a profound pity for the 
niece. 

He promised to convey the message, and he agreed to 
look after the niece. 

He had looked after her — a long way — for the next 
twenty minutes. Then he found himself by her side at the 
summit of the ladder. 

And now he was seated in the stern of a boat, steering 
for the anchor light of the Carnarvon Castle^ with the aunt 
on one side of him and the niece on the other, a confused 
mass of trunks and portmanteaus lying in the bows. 

On the way to the steamer Mrs. Hardy explained to 
Charlton that she and her niece were on their way to 
England, and that her niece was prolonging the voyage by 
visiting every place at which a steamer put in. They had 
been to Calcutta, Ceylon, Bombay, Natal, Cape Town, and 
lastly St. Helena. They had remained a week at almost 
every port. That was too short a time for most places, 
but too long for St. Helena, and they had agreed that it 
would be well to take their passages in the first steamer 
that might call at the island on the way to England. 

She had just concluded the account of their itinerary 


ON THE LIEBIG PRINCIPLE, 


41 


when the boat ran alongside the steamer, and Mr. Charlton 
hastened to help the lady, her niece, and their maid up 
the hand rail. 

“ Thank goodness ! these are the last steps I’ll see for 
some time, except the cabin stairs ; and I’m not sorry for 
it ; steps don’t suit me, Mr. Charlton.” 

None of the passengers on the deck of the Carnarvon 
Castle had time to notice the arrival of the boat which Mr. 
Charlton had steered alongside. The fact was that Mrs. 
Howard had brought with her from the shore two officers 
of Engineers — one of them with his wife — and Captain 
Waring had also been accompanied by some members of 
the garrison of St. Helena, who had lost no time in making 
the acquaintance of all the passengers who wore frocks. 

When a young man — or, for that matter, an old man — 
has been stationed for over a year — or, for that matter, 
over a month — at such a place as St. Helena, anything 
that wears a gown is welcomed by him with indiscriminate 
enthusiasm. If a young woman wishes to be appreciated 
to a point within measurable distance of what she conceives 
to be her own value, she should make a call at the island 
of St. Helena. 

The occupants of the deck of the Carnarvon Castle were 
too deeply engrossed in their own affairs to have a moment 
to give to so ordinary an incident as the approach of 
another boat. They were standing and sitting and stroll- 
ing about fore and aft in companies of two and three. 
Some were leaning together in places of fascinating 
gloom, watching the little waves climbing up the sides of 
the steamer. All were deeply engrossed in their own 
affairs. 

“Love-making on the Liebig principle,” said Cyril 
Southcote, waving his hand airily around as Charlton 
seated himself close to the hammock chair on which he 
reposed, far enough aft to run no chance of being tripped 


42 


**/ FORBID THE BANNS I 


over by any of the promenaders on the deck. “ Love- 
making on the Liebig principle.” 

“ The Liebig principle ? ” 

“ Yes — extraordinary compression. Half a dozen oxen 
boiled down into a half-pint jar — as much love-making as 
would do duty for six months compressed into half an hour 
— that’s the Liebig principle.” 

Charlton laughed quietly and felt for his cigar case. 

“You are, as usual, observing your fellow-creatures,” he 
remarked as he seated himself on one of the fixed seats. 

“ They are entertaining, these fellow-creatures,” said 
Cyril. “ That group in the center is particularly entertain- 
ing. The youth in the mess jacket is a lieutenant of sap- 
pers. He has been trying to lure Miss Travers away from 
the side of Mrs. Howard, but he has made no progress as 
yet. He has just been assuring her that he knows of an 
extraordinary view of the rocks above the wharf that he can 
point out to her if she only steps forward with him. She 
told him that moonlight views made her feel melancholy- — 
they always suggested to her a churchyard in a book of 
German prints. Then he offered to show her how phos- 
phorescent the water is alongside the vessel. It was no 
use. She never could bear phosphorescent water, she 
declared — it put her in mind of Burne Jones and the Gros- 
venor Gallery, she said, by way of explanation. The sap- 
per didn’t seem satisfied.” 

“ Odd that he wasn’t satisfied.” 

“ Isn’t it ? Then I have been noticing how the elderly 
Sapper has had his eye upon Miss Crawford, but his wife 
has her eye on him, and every time he has shown a tend- 
ency to steal away from the group, she has nipped it in the 
bud. Oh, they are all most entertaining to me ! Why, if 
you only watch the skipper you will find the study to repay 
you. I heard him narrate in the most liberal spirit, to the 
stout surgeon major over there, the particulars of that 
famous run he had in Leicestershire. It actually appeared 


ON THE LIEBIG PRINCIPLE. 


43 


to me that he fancied the surgeon major believed every 
word. I have often wondered if Ananias was a hunting 
man. Hallo ! the central group is breaking up. ” 

The engineer had just announced to the captain that 
the repairs to the faulty steam pipe were finished, and that 
steam was got up in the boilers. The watchful wife of the 
major of engineers was giving directions to have their boat 
brought up to the hand rail, and her husband was almost 
resigned to the dreary waste of a life of conjugal fidelity. 
He only glanced furtively every now and again at the 
attractive Miss Crawford, whose side he had made such 
persistent efforts to reach. 

The lieutenant of engineers was beginning to regret 
that he had wasted his time with Miss Travers. His eyes 
sought out all the gloomy nooks about the deck houses and 
the bulwarks of the steamer, and, so far as he could judge, 
the other members of the garrison who had paid a visit to the 
Carnarvon Castle had not been losing their time. The sound 
of the getting up of steam allowed the sound of the low 
ripples of laughter that meant so much to the appreciative 
ears of the scientific officer, to broaden with impunity. He 
heard the sounds of this light-hearted and innocent mirth, 
and he had very bitter thoughts in his soul regarding Miss 
Travers; There was no innocent mirth about her. She 
was little better than a prude, he declared in his bitterness, 
for he was very angry and wished to think the worst of her. 
Another steamer was not due for ten days. 

While Mrs. Howard was saying an affectionate farewell 
to the wife of the major, the major fancied he saw a favor- 
able opportunity. He pretended that someone was calling 
him from the dark places under the bridge. He was hur- 
rying in the most professional way into the darkness when 
his wife called to him in her strident tones : 

“ Algernon, come back at once. Do you hear me ? Come 
back.” Then turning to her friend, Mrs. Howard, she added 
in confidential tones : “ Prevention is better than cure.” 


CHAPTER VIIL 


ON SHADOWS. 

I '' HE Carnarvon Castle was once again under weigh. 

The last of the boats had been cast off, and the mirth- 
ful young ladies, who had been watching the phosphorescent 
waters so kindly pointed out to them by their visitors from 
the island — they had qualified for the arduous duty by a 
residence of considerable duration ashore — were feeling 
almost sad. 

The moonlight was quivering over the white swirling 
waters in the wake of the steamer, and smiting the face of 
the cliffs with its silver lances. Julian Charlton stood with 
his eyes fixed upon that dark line that marked the course 
of Jacob’s Ladder up to the summit. 

He wondered if he had ever dreamt that he had been 
standing one evening upon the uneven ground at the sum- 
mit of the cliffs, with a figure who had been in his dreams 
for years by his side. 

Then the steamer’s course was altered, and Ladder Hill 
was slowly slipping into the shadow of the headland round 
which the steamer was passing. 

It was gone, and he was feeling more strongly than 
before that he had had a dream of being at the summit 
with the mist-like form of many a dream by his side. 

He turned away from the barren island with something 
like a sigh. A figure was standing behind him — the pleas- 
ant, but, in the engineer lieutenant’s eyes, not sufficiently 
plastic, figure of Marian Travers. 

“ We had a delightful run ashore,” said she. “ We paid 
a visit to Mr. Southcote’s old friend. Sir Bbenezer. A 


44 


ON SHADOWS. 


45 


delightful old gentleman he is. Anything more cruel 
than Mr. Southcote’s treatment of so inoffensive a person 
I cannot imagine. I don’t know how he had the heart to 
do it. It was as bad as taking advantage of a child. I 
have seen some guileless administrators, but none that 
could approach Sir Ebenezer.” 

“ Did he write his name in your birthday book, Miss 
Travers, or give you a cabinet portrait of himself in the 
character of Wordsworth’s Father William ? ” 

I will not listen to your scoffing, Mr. Charlton. Sir 
Ebenezer is my ideal of a graceful old gentleman. He 
is a most graceful administrator. He plays the zither 
very prettily.” 

“ Then I gather that we need not be apprehensive of 
a revolutionary outbreak at St. Helena just yet ? ” 

“ I believe that the people worship him. His speech at 
the opening of a bazaar at James’ Town is being published 
in pamphlet form. It is expected to have a great influence 
upon the course of modern thought. He assured us that 
it was entirely non-political. There was not a word in it 
that any foreign power could take exception to. He colors 
photographs very nicely, and his collection of ferns is one 
of the largest in the island.” 

“ His is indeed a notable career. Has he no vices to 
give him an interest in life ? ” 

He plays b^zique.” 

“ That is the little leaven. Sir Ebenezer is human, after 
all.” 

And you, Mr. Charlton,” resumed Miss Travers ; ‘Mid 
you carry out your ideas of a pilgrimage ? ” 

“ I went up the ladder. Miss Travers.” 

“ And you stood at the summit, where that scene about 
which you were telling me was enacted — how many years 
ago ? ” 

“ Thirty-one years ago. Yes, I stood there.” 


46 


’ “/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


“ How interesting ! I can easily fancy the vision that 
came before your eyes.” 

She was speaking seriously. He could perceive that she 
was really interested in what he had told her regarding the 
meeting of his father and mother. 

“ Yes,” she continued after a little pause which he did 
not think necessary to break. “Yes, you stood there at 
the brink of the cliff, and you saw coming toward you a 
beautiful girl — her face flushed with the exertion of climb- 
ing, and her fair hair flying about her shapely head, as the 
breeze from the ocean ran the tender fingers of a mother 
through those loose tresses.” 

“ Good God ! ” cried Charlton, starting from the bul- 
warks against which he had been leaning, and staring at 
Marian Travers. He recovered himself in an instant, and 
gave a laugh. He wondered if the amiable Sir Ebenezer 
added a little astronomy to his other blameless accomplish- 
ments — if he possessed a trustworthy telescope, by the aid 
of which the summit of Ladder Hill might be made visible 
from Government House. He had heard of the imagina- 
tion of young women being stimulated by the aid of 
applied science. 

“ Pray go on. Miss Travers,” he said. “ Pray tell me all 
that I saw at th^ summit of the hill. I should like to be 
provided with a complete list.” 

“ If you did not see all that I have told you of, you must 
have a singularly weak imagination,” said Miss Travers. 
“ I cannot understand why young men who chance to be 
Englishmen should be ashamed to acknowledge that they 
have brains or imagination.” 

“ I cannot understand it any more than yourself. Miss 
Travers ; but whether we understand it or not, they are,” 
said Charlton. 

“ Now, do you mean to tell me that you went up to that 
place, where your father and your mother met in so roman- 


ON SHADOWS. 


47 


tic a way, and yet failed to see before you the picture 
which I had barely outlined when you interrupted me with 
that irreverent exclamation ? ” 

I mean to tell you nothing of the sort, Miss Travers. 
I mean to admit that I saw before me exactly such a figure 
as your words suggested.” 

“ Oh, you admit it,” cried the girl triumphantly. “ My 
imagination — such as it is — did not mislead me. You saw 
the beautiful picture that was seen by your father so many 
years ago ? ” 

“ My father saw nothing,” said Charlton. “ He could 
not see a yard ahead of him on account of the mist.” 

“ I quite forgot the mist,” said Miss Travers in atone of 
despondency. “ It does not matter,” she added after a 
pause. “ We can say that so strong was his presentiment 
of his coming fafe that he pictured the figure coming 
toward him.” 

“ And I,” said Charlton gravely, “ I had no presenti- 
ment.” 

“ Presentiment ? Of what ? ” cried the girl. 

“ Of my — what did you say just now ? — Fate— that was 
your word.” 

“ Not your fate, your father’s fate — to meet on the sum- 
mit of that hill the girl who was afterward to be part of 
his life — that was his fate, not yours.” 

“ You cannot give me a word of hope. Miss Travers ? ” 

Miss Travers gave a little flush — it was not visible in the 
moonlight. 

“ Hope,” she said in a very low tone. “ You ask me for 
a word of hope ? ” 

“ You were good enough to draw a picture of a figure 
which you say I saw at the summit of that hill. You told 
me it was a beautiful girl. Is she ever to remain on the 
heights, while I walk alone through the lower tracks of the 
earth beneath ? ” 


48 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


“ Ah,” said Miss Travers in a tone that seemed like the 
expression of a sigh. “ Ah, she was a shadow. Do you 
ask me to give you some hope that a shadow shall become 
part of your life ? ” 

Is she nothing more than a shadow ? ” 

“ She is the embodiment of the mist in which people are 
occasionally lost on those heights.” 

** And yet happiness came out of that mist into my father’s 
arms.” 

‘‘ Oh, Mr. Charlton,” cried the girl at length, “ do not take 
things so seriously, I entreat you. I withdraw that shadow 
from your life which I said you had seen up there. I will 
be as definite as a hypnotizer, and you must be as docile as 
his subject ; I now tell you that you saw no shadow on the 
heights ; you must agree with me fully, if you are to play 
the part of the subject gracefully.” 

I am only too happy to agree with you. Miss Travers : 
I saw no shadow.” 

“ Then I further command you not to speak in so lugu- 
brious a tone of voice. Don’t think of the shadow on the 
heights, but of the flesh and blood on the lower and more 
level lands. I speak as a hypnotizer.” 

“ Alas ! Alas ! ” said he. The shadows are more real 
than the substance. The shadows appear in the mist, and 
one breathes the mist until the shadows become part of one’s 
life.” 

“ More parables ? ” 

“ A parable is the shadowed image cast by the substance 
truth.” 

“ As saith the copy books,” remarked Mr. Southcote, who 
had come up behind the two figures standing at the bulwarks 
gazing at the two highest hills of the island — Lot and Lot’s 
Wife. ** How have you fallen to so low a depth as that in 
which the ethical buds bloom among the leaves of the copy 
book?” 


ON SHADOWS. 


49 


believe that Mr. Charlton has found the Jacob's 
Ladder of St. Helena as mysterious as the original seen by 
the patriarch," said Miss Travers. He has breathed the 
ambrosial atmosphere at the summit, and he cannot bring 
himself to partake of the ordinary fare of earth." 

“ I found him very ordinary when I was talking to him 
just now," said Southcote. He is not too bright and 
good for human nature’s daily food — when conscientiously 
cooked." 

“ Or human nature’s nightly drink," said Captain Waring. 
“ What do you say to a split soda, Charlton, old man, to be 
followed by a quiet little poker ?’’ 

“ Southcote will split with you," said Charlton. “ As for 
the poker — well. I’ll not play to-night." 

“ I don’t see why the deuce a fellow shouldn’t have a 
friendly game after a few hours ashore as well as on any 
other night," said Waring. “ It’s not so much of a place 
after all — that lump of rock over there," and he steadied 
himself against a stay with his left hand, while he pointed 
out with his right, somewhat dreamily, the exact place to 
which he was alluding, lest his friends might make any mis- 
take. What’s Saint ’Lena that it should knock a fellow 
off a poker ? Hanged if there aren’t friends of mine that 
have bigger rockeries in their back gardens than the whole 
fixture over there — there." 

This time he steadied himself with his right hand and 
endeavored to take a perfect aim with his left at the island, 
for he seemed greatly afraid that his friends might take up 
his meaning wrongly and fancy that he was casting a slight 
upon quite another part of the world. His attempt to 
point out the island was not quite successful. “ ’Scuse me. 
Miss Travers, but this beast of a boat is jerky — if the 
skipper would only run up a trys’l to steady her I’d point 
you out the place I mean. Anyhow, I bear no malice, so 
go’-night." 


50 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


He felt his way along the deck very cautiously for a few 
steps, then he returned to the group. 

“ On secon’ thoughts,” he murmured, “ I’ll not split the 
soda ; I’ll drink it all. Go’-night, Miss Travers. I knew 
your father well. Gawbless you ! I’ll point you out the 
island in the morning.” 

Miss Travers, as she lay in her berth that night, began 
to try to account for the undoubted change that had taken 
place in Mr. Charlton’s manner between the time of his 
leaving for the island and his reappearance upon the 
deck of the Carnarvon Castle. She felt that he had been 
more than interested in her when they had had their long 
rides together at the Cape, and she believed that the week 
they had passed aboard the steamer had strengthened his 
regard for her. She had actually made a rough, perhaps 
an unconscious, calculation that should this process of con- 
solidation be maintained for the remainder of the voyage, he 
would probably propose to her before the Bay of Biscay 
would be reached. 

She rather hoped that he would do so before they 
reached the Bay of Biscay. She had had some experience 
of the bay, and she had no confidence in the possibility of 
any man’s determination surviving the passage of the Bay 
of Biscay. A man has no stomach for love making, or, 
indeed, for anything else except pale brandy and captain’s 
biscuits, from the time the vessel passes the latitude of 
Gibraltar until the English Channel is reached. 

But since Mr. Charlton had gone ashore, returning to 
the steamer unobserved by anyone aboard, he had suffered 
a change. She could apprehend the change, though she 
could not define it — definitions are coarse, rough and ready 
methods of making certain matters plain to the common- 
place understanding. There are some people who are so 
constituted as to be unable to perceive a want of cordiality 
on the part of a man unless he swears at them. 


ON SHADOWS. 


51 


Marian Travers was not one of those people. Mr. Charl- 
ton had been quite as cordial in speaking to her after the 
last of the visitors had left the ship’s side and the moonlit 
rocks of the island were becoming more indistinct every 
moment as he had been in the morning. And yet she felt 
that a change had passed over him. 

Could it be, she wondered, that he had seen that young 
officer of engineers by her side? Could it be^that he 
fancied that she was devoting herself to that young 
man, after the fashion of the greater number of the girls 
on the same deck in regard to the other young men, who 
were paid for maintaining St. Helena as a British depen- 
dency in the face of the other Powers that are consumed 
with jealousy at our good fortune in possessing such a 
treasure ? 

Could it be that Charlton was actually jealous of the 
sapper ? 

She rather hoped that it was a case of pique. It would, 
indeed, be a healthy sign if he were actually piqued on 
account of the officer’s attentions. 

She began to feel really happy, as any good girl would, 
as she became impressed with the idea that, after all, 
nothing but jealousy was the matter with Charlton. She 
had not lived very long in the world, but there are some 
great truths that are apprehended without the aid of a vast 
or varied experience. One of these — perhaps not the 
greatest, but still an eminently useful one — is that the 
course of true love is marvelously accelerated by the intro- 
duction of a little jealousy. 

She knew that there is nothing so bad for a husband or 
so good for a lover as a little jealousy. It acts upon lovers 
as mulching acts upon roses — it brings them on. 

She went to sleep, being almost satisfied that the change 
which she had noticed in Charlton was only the result of a 
little healthy jealousy. 


52 


‘*7 FORBID THE BANNS! 


For if the feelings of women are rarely astray, their 
judgments are frequently awry. Marian Travers felt that 
Charlton had changed. Here she was right. She judged 
that the origin of this change was jealousy. Here she was 
wrong. 

As for Charlton himself, he went to sleep filled with 
longing for the morrow. 


CHAPTER IX. 


ON A DECK CHAIR. 

I T was the habit of some of the passengers aboard the 
Carnarvon Castle to take a stroll on deck every morning 
before sitting down to breakfast. Most of them did no 
more than lounge about the wheel. Others were deter- 
mined to carry out a fell scheme of walking two miles 
every morning, calculated by a tape measure on the prome- 
nade deck of the steamer. 

Mr. Charlton was one of the passengers who had never 
been known to appear five minutes before the ringing of 
the breakfast bell. Miss Travers was one who had never 
been known to miss a ten minutes’ stroll, whatever the 
weather might be. 

When Miss Travers passed out of the deck house this 
morning and reached the deck, she was unconscious of the 
grateful breeze that came upon her face. She was uncon- 
scious of everything about her save that Julian Charlton 
was seated on one of the ship’s carpet stools, face to face 
with a young girl, who occupied Charlton’s own hammock 
chair, and with a middle-aged lady, inclined to be stout, 
who occupied a stronger seat — one that had clearly been 
designed to afford repose without risk to a person above 
the average weight. 

Mr. Charlton was engaged in conversation with the 
younger lady, and his cheeks as well as hers were glowing 
with animation. 

He had never been on deck before breakfast since leaving 
Table Bay. 

S3 


54 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS' 


He had never unfolded his chair for the accommodation 
of a fellow-passenger since leaving Table Bay. 

The girl was extremely pretty. 

The thoughts of Miss Travers had this sequence as she 
stood at the door of the deck house ; and as her thoughts 
came, her heart stood still. 

Where on earth had they come from ? She had heard of 
persons being picked off rafts by steamers after undergoing 
terrible hardships : had these strangers come aboard the 
steamer in this wise ? 

They did not look like it. The elder lady did not look 
in the least like a person who had been rescued at the last 
moment from the results of a protracted regime of starva- 
tion. The younger had a bright complexion, and her lips 
were like red coral. Her dress fitted her to perfection. 

That was the worst of it. 

Where on earth had they come from? 

It did not take Marian Travers long to see all that was 
to be seen of this strange occurrence, and to ask herself 
every question possible to be asked regarding the myste- 
rious appearance of the two ladies — one of them in the 
chair which Julian Charlton cherished for his own accom- 
modation. Curiously enough, all her observations and 
reflections were crystallized into the one thought — the girl’s 
dress fitted her to perfection. 

The result of that one thought was not to impart artistic 
gratification to Marian Travers' bosom. 

And it was only the previous night that she had felt grati- 
fied at the reflection that Julian Charlton was becoming 
jealous ! 

She took a few steps down the deck away from where the 
group were sitting. A voice sounded behind her — the voice 
of Captain Waring. 

“Miss Travers,” said the voice, “may I ask you as a 
friend to tell me if I was very drunk last night ? ” 


ON A DECK CHAIR. 


55 


‘‘Certainly you were not, Captain Waring — not very,” 
she replied without hesitation. 

“ Thank you,” said he politely. “ It was my own impres- 
sion that I wasn’t so sober as to cause people to make 
remarks about it ; at the same time I felt that I wasn’t 
uninterestingly drunk. Then will you tell me how I came to 
miss seeing that ? ” and he pointed over his shoulder in the 
direction of the group of three which had so surprised Miss 
Travers — a group of four it might more appropriately be 
termed, for the boot of the elder lady, which forced itself 
into prominence, might claim to be regarded as a distinct 
entity, not susceptible of being absorbed into its own sur- 
roundings. 

“ Do not blame yourself. Captain Waring,” said Marian. 
“ I assure you that our new passengers came aboard with- 
out my having the slightest knowledge of the fact. I never 
was so surprised as when I came on deck just now and saw 
them sitting there.” 

“ But think what it was to me. Miss Travers, when I saw 
them come out of that door a quarter of an hour ago, fol- 
lowed by one of the boys with the deck chair, which the 
mother — she looks motherly — so ably fills. It has the 
build of a weight-carrier, that chair. I was staggered, I 
can tell you — I felt that it would have been no surprise to 
me if I had found myself remonstrating with one of the life- 
boats for following me about the deck. I felt that I must 
be breaking up quicker than ordinary, especially as Charl- 
ton hastened to meet them and greet them as if he had 
known them all his life — the young one in particular. Yes, 
I felt that I was only separated by a thin line from the 
black cat stage — I give you my word I felt that I would be 
seeing the black cat next.” 

“I dare say Mr. Charlton met them in the course of his 
travels,” said Marian ; “and when he found them at St. 
Helena he renewed their acquaintance.” 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!" 


56 

“ And perhaps persuaded them that this tub is far and 
away ahead of all the Castles that sail the seas, so that they 
couldn’t do better than take berths aboard. Just like what 
Charlton would do. Look at the young one.” 

Miss Travers glanced in the direction of Bertha, and she 
could scarcely fail to agree with Captain Waring that if 
Mr. Charlton had used whatever power of persuasion he 
had at his command to induce the two strangers to join 
the ship’s company of the Carnarvon Castle^ such a course 
would by no means be inconsistent with human nature. 

This was not exactly how Waring had put it ; but it was 
probably what he meant. 

“ Mr. Charlton brought them aboard last night,” 
whispered someone who had just come on deck behind 
Waring and Miss Travers. The new arrival was Miss 
Crawford, the very attractive young person whose side the 
major of engineers had exhausted all his knowledge of 
modern strategy to reach. She was the daughter of Mr. 
Lionel Crawford. He was a literary gentleman who had 
been for some time engaged upon his magnum opus^ which 
it was understood took the form of a political key to 
“ Alice in Wonderland.” He had been ordered a long 
voyage for the benefit of his health, which had naturally 
suffered through the undue application to his desk entailed 
by the conscientious discharge of his Self-imposed task. 
“ Yes, he brought them aboard last night. I found out all 
about them from Mrs. Robinson.” Mrs. Robinson was the 
stewardess, and she was generally found to know all about 
everyone. “ They are Australians ; the stout one is Mrs. 
Hardy, the other one is a Miss Lancaster. They have a 
maid^; her name is Miriam. ‘ Sound the loud timbrel o’er 
Egypt’s dark sea ! ’ ” 

“ Where’s the maid ? ” asked Captain Waring, for whom 
the first chord of interest had been struck. “ Where’s the 
maid ? ” 


ON A DECK CHAIR. 57 

“ How should I know, Captain Waring ? ” said Miss 
Crawford stiffly. “ I don’t think her so very pretty." 

“ Who — the maid i* " inquired Waring. 

Miss Crawford took no notice of the inquiry. 

“ Do you think her so very pretty, Marian ? " she asked 
of Miss Travers. 

“ Extremely," replied Miss Travers quickly, though she 
had by no means made up her mind on the subject. 

“ It cannot really have been a case behveen her and Charl- 
ton, or she would be down on the new girl” thought the 
artless Captain Waring. 

Marian Travers is a clever young woman” thought the 
far from artless Miss Crawford. 

And there sat Julian Charlton on the uncomfortable 
carpet stool, engrossed in conversation with that hatefully 
pretty girl who lay back in a shockingly graceful way in 
Charlton’s own chair. No one in the group gave the least 
attention to any of the other passengers. They seemed 
altogether independent of their human surroundings. 

A condition which was very exasperating to some of 
these surroundings. 

Then the bell rang for breakfast, and at the first sound 
the young woman leaped to her feet out of Charlton’s 
chair in a way that plainly suggested a good appetite. 

The excellence of the aunt’s appetite was suggested by 
the tardiness of her movement. 

So soon as the aunt and the niece were on their way to 
the companion, Charlton quietly picked up the book which 
Bertha Lancaster had allowed to slip to the deck from her 
knee. She had brought out the book with her from the 
cabin, but circumstances had prevented her from reading 
it. Charlton, after picking it up, laid it gently, almost 
reverently, down upon his own chair that the girl had 
occupied. 

Marian Travers saw the act. 


58 


“/ FORBID THE BA HNS / 


It suggested to her his desire to appropriate the girl who 
had last sat in the chair. 

If so sensible a young woman as Miss Travers had only 
reflected for a moment she could not have failed to per- 
ceive the extraordinary weakness of the chain of reasoning 
which led her to accept the act as indicative of such an 
intention on the part of Julian Charlton. 

He had only desired that the girl should appropriate the 
chair. Surely this was not equivalent to the suggestion of 
a desire to appropriate the girl. 

But then Miss Travers did not reflect. Women do not 
reflect — they feel. This is why many tears are shed. 


CHAPTER X. 


ON THE HUMAN SOUL. 

N ot until everyone had been seated for some time at 
the tables in the saloon of the Carnarvon Castle, and 
the Dutch clergyman, who was among the passengers, had 
said grace in French — not because that language is gener- 
ally regarded as the mother tongue of theology, but because 
his English was ridiculous, and because the majority of the 
Englishmen whom he had met regarded Cape Dutch as the 
mother tongue of Beelzebub, and only adapted to such the- 
ological expressions as are essential to a malediction — not 
until the curried oysters had almost all been appropriated, 
did Mr. Charlton descend and hasten up to the side of the 
table at which he was accustomed to sit. 

If he had been a designing man, Cyril Southcote thought, 
he would certainly have been on the spot in order to make 
provision for obtaining a seat next the very pretty girl who 
had been sitting in his deck chair. 

“ I’m afraid I must ask you to sit a little further down 
the table, Mr. Charlton,” said the chief steward, following 
him up the saloon. 

“ Eh, what do you say, Robinson ? ” said he. *‘A change 
in seats ? Oh, yes, to be sure. Well, where are you going 
to put me, Robinson ? ” 

Here, sir,” said the steward, twisting round one of the 
chairs for Charlton’s accommodation. “ If you had been 
here sooner, sir, I would have asked you if you minded the 
change.” 

All right, Robinson ; don’t make a fuss,” said Charlton. 

SQ 


6o 


I FORBID THE BANNS!" 


“ I place myself unreservedly in your hands. Is this the 
seat ? ” 

“ If you please, sir.” 

It may possibly have caused some pleasing emotion to* 
Mr. Charlton to discover, as he did with a little gesture of 
surprise, so soon as he had seated himself, that the passen- 
ger on his right was Miss Lancaster. 

“ That trick cost him just a sovereign,” murmured Cap- 
tain Waring, who had paused in the midst of his crayfish to 
watch the transaction. 

He was wrong. 

It was only half a sovereign that the adroit Mr. Charlton 
had placed in the reluctant hand of the chief steward early 
in the morning, with a hint that if it could be made quite 
consistent with the etiquette of the saloon — a branch of 
knowledge of which the steward was master — to allow him 
to sit next to the young lady whom he had brought aboard 
the previous evening, he should not feel greatly morti- 
fied. 

The chief steward said he would see what could be done 
in the matter, and the result of his consideration was 
made plain when Miss Travers had seated herself. The 
chair next to her had hitherto been occupied by Charlton ; 
but now the chief steward bowed Mrs. Hardy into it, and 
then bowed Miss Lancaster into the next. The new arri- 
vals having been accommodated it only remained for the 
steward to beg, in that apologetic tone which he had 
assumed, that Mr. Charlton would have the kindness to 
take the chair furthest down the table. This kindness 
Mr. Charlton had at his command ; and the general 
impre.ssion which prevailed — for some moments — among 
the passengers on the opposite side of the table was that 
Mr. Charlton was quite too easily imposed upon by the 
officials of the saloon. 

Captain Waring flattered himself that he knew better. 


ON THE HUMAN SOUL. 


6i 


And the market value of the transaction he had roughly 
estimated at one sovereign. 

Mr. Cyril Southcote sat a considerable way up the table. 
It* has been stated that, on Charlton’s appearing in the 
saloon after the other passengers were seated, Cyril South- 
cote had regarded him as the most guileless of men. In the 
course of the next five minutes he considered that he had 
good reason for revising his impression of Charlton. He 
regarded him as the most fortunate of men ; and being well 
aware that good fortune and guilelessness are rarely found 
in association, he had had no difficulty in pronouncing 
Charlton extremely adroit — so adroit as to deceive, if it were 
possible, even the very elect. 

Southcote considered himself the very elect. 

As for Julian Charlton, he did not venture to glance down 
the table — not even as far down as three seats to his right, 
where Marian Travers was sitting — with a view of discover- 
ing what was the prevailing expression in the faces of the 
passengers when they perceived that he had changed — had 
been, as he put it, forced out of his accustomed place. He 
quietly explained to his neighbor, Miss Lancaster, that the 
laws of the Medes and Persians might be considered types 
of mutability compared with the cabin code of the Carnar- 
von Castle. The places at the tables were allotted strictly in 
the order of the booking of the passengers, he explained, 
so that she and her aunt would naturally have found them- 
selves at the foot of the table if Robinson, fhe chief steward, 
had not taken upon him to assume that he, Charlton, would 
not object to be moved down to the last place. 

“It is not a position of indignity, that at the foot of the 
table, is it, Mr. Charlton ? so that you really need not have 
been moved. Neither my aunt nor I would have objected 
in the least to the seat you are in.” 

“ Of course not,” said he. “ But, as no doubt you have 
noticed aboard the P. and O. steamers when on your way 


62 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


to Calcutta, it is usually the case that a man is made a sort 
of tailpiece at either side of the tables. In any case,” he 
added, “ it is just as well that Robinson should have a free 
hand in these matters, and he has very wisely placed Mrs. 
Hardy by the side of Miss Travers. Mrs. Hardy and Miss 
Travers are certain to get on well together ; and as for you 
and me ” 

“ I am certain that we will get on splendidly,” said the 
girl, with the most innocent laugh that he had ever 
heard. 

“ I hope so, with all my heart,” said he. 

“ You may depend upon it,” she cried with enthusiasm. 
“ We both eat like children, I see, and not in accordance 
with any fixed principle, such as grown people love to lay 
down for their guidance, in order that they may feel that 
satisfaction which comes from going contrary to any fixed 
principle. For my part, I am always hungry. It’s part of 
my nature, I suppose.” 

I am not so sure that an evolutionist of any standing in 
his profession would allow your theory of hereditary hunger 
to pass unchallenged,” said Charlton. 

“ But when they tell you that the perpetual thirst which 
is enjoyed by so many persons is inherited from their 
fathers, and passed down through a long line of steady 
drinkers, why may we not say that my perpetual hunger 
was born with me ? ” 

Why not indeed ? ” said Charlton. “ And therefore 
we’ll get on well together ? That is how you commenced.” 

“t)f course. We have something in common. Persons 
who drink a good deal get on well together — at least until 
they quarrel.” 

“ And so shall we — at least until we quarrel. But at 
the same time. Miss Lancaster, I would fain hope that we 
have other sympathies in common — other aspirations, 
rather more spiritual.” 


ON THE HUMAN SOUL. 63 

‘‘ Spiritual aspiration and spiritual sympathy,” said the 
girl, “ imply the existence and presence of a soul — of two 
souls.” 

“ I am willing to admit one, for the sake of argument,” 
said Charlton. 

“ But you are a man of science, and therefore you think 
that all knowledge of this sort is negative ? ” 

“ I am a man of science, and therefore I say that such 
knowledge is positive,” said Charlton. 

“ What, you mean to tell me that there are any people 
in England at present who believe that a scrap of soul 
remains among human beings ? ” 

“ There are thousands who are assured of it, Miss Lan- 
caster. There are even some here and there who believe 
in the human soul, not merely as a subject eminently 
adapted to co-operative divisibility — one doing duty for a 
number of persons — but actually as an individual pos- 
session.” 

“ Then will you tell me if it is England or Australia that 
is behind in science ? ” cried the girl. 

“ I cannot say,” said Charlton ; “ I know that the pre- 
vailing feeling in England just now is not that the regener- 
ation of mankind has the best chance of being effected 
through the agency of sulphate of copper and zinc filings. 
Is there any science in Australia ? ” 

“ There is nothing but science, Mr. Charlton,” said 
Bertha. “ There is nothing but science to be met with in 
any direction. I have come to hate the idea of a man with 
a mind. Does a man’s sympathy come from his mind ? 
They have told me long ago that sympathy is only a form 
of reasoning.” 

And no doubt that gratitude is the same — that it 
springs only when one expects that one will have further 
cause for its exercise.” 

“ The laboratory is the modern temple,” said the girl. 


64 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS 


It is there that the man of science goes to worship, not 
with his soul, but with his mind. He puts the human soul 
into the crucible, and gives you an analysis of what remains, 
worked out to five places of decimals. He has brought 
God into the laboratory, and after a series of experiments 
declared him to be two parts superstition and one part 
automatic cerebration. Science has taken from us all 
that made life beautiful, and has given us in exchange a 
handful of ashes and a mathematical formula.” 

“I am amazed to hear you say that. Miss Lancaster,” 
said Charlton ; and he really was amazed. 

“ Of course, as a man of science, you are amazed to find 
anyone with the effrontery to say a word against your 
modern systems.” 

“ I am,” he replied ; “lam amazed to find anyone with 
the courage to express what I have felt for years.” 

“ What, you do not mean to say that you have been think- 
ing on the same lines ? ” cried the girl. 

“I assure you I have,” said he. “I left Cambridge full 
of scientific enthusiasm — I worked for five years in accord- 
ance with modern methods. The deeper the insight I got 
into the most recent systems, the more dissatisfied I became. 
One morning the breaking strain was reached. I packed 
up my portmanteau and took the first steamer to America. 
That is nearly two years ago, and I have been traveling 
ever since.” 

“And the result has been r ” 

“ The result has been that — that — I met you.” 

The girl did not look down to her plate with a blush as 
she would have done had she lived fifty years earlier. She 
turned her eyes full upon his face. She looked at him ear- 
nestly, with something of wonder in her gaze. He felt as 
though the most brilliant electric search light had been 
directed upon him, only no electric search light has been 
invented that will reach to a man’s soul. 


ON THE HUMAN SOUL. 


65 


He met her gaze frankly. He made no attempt to avoid 
it. He felt that he had incurred a responsibility by making 
use of the words, and he would not evade it. » 

“ I think,” said the girl, “ I think that ” Her eyes 

left his face and settled upon something else. “ I think 
that I should like some of that marmalade, Mr. Charlton.” 

He passed her the glass plate. 

He felt that she could not have said anything more suita- 
ble to the requirements of the situation of the moment. 

He had known her fifteen hours — eight of which he had 
passed in slumber — and he had just assured her that the 
result of his two years of travel was his meeting with her. 

What was left for her but to express a desire to try some 
marmalade ? 


CHAPTER XL 


ON LEADING A HORSE TO THE WATER. 

W HILE Charlton and Bertha were engaged in their 
interesting conversation, Mrs. Hardy was getting on 
friendly terms with Marian Travers. The elder lady pos- 
sessed the invaluable faculty of getting on friendly terms 
with most people — even young ladies, who, with all the inso- 
lence of slimness, called her stout. 

Marian Travers had no objection in the world to be made 
acquainted with the chief incidents in the life of Mrs. Hardy 
and of her niece during the past year or two. She learned 
that Mrs. Hardy, on the death of her brother, Mr. Lancas- 
ter, two years before, had gone out from England to Austra- 
lia to take charge of Mr. Lancaster’s only child — the girl 
who was engaged in conversation with Mr. Charlton. She 
also learned that taking charge of Mr. Lancaster’s only 
child had been something of a care to her aunt. Just as 
her aunt had become reconciled to life in Australia, the 
girl had made up her mind to travel to England by easy 
stages, but they did not seem easy to the aunt. A month 
or two in Calcutta had seemed to the niece essential for the 
study of the elements of Buddhism. But a knowledge of 
the elements of Buddhism did not apparently enter into the 
aunt’s ideas of how to make life agreeable, though it seemed 
that the niece found unbearable the prospect of existence 
without an intimate acquaintance with Buddhism. From 
Calcutta to Ceylon for further studies in what the aunt 
considered mysticism, and from Ceylon to Bombay to take 
a passing glance to find out if there was anything in Mo- 
hammedanism, and from Bombay to the Cape colonies to 

66 


ON LEADING A HORSE TO THE WA TER, 67 

discover if the people there were broader in their views 
than the inhabitants of the Australian cities — this itinerary- 
had had a great charm for the niece, but the aunt, in briefly 
reviewing the situation for the benefit of Miss Travers, 
declared that it had been a great weariness to herself, 

“I look forward to settling down in England,” said 
Mrs, Hardy, “ I made up my mind when I sat down on 
that awful ladder last evening that nothing would induce 
me to give way upon another occasion to my niece’s thirst 
for knowledge. She had heard of that Jacob’s Ladder, 
and the name had fascinated her. She laughed when she 
asked me one day if it might not be possible that heaven 
was at the top of that ladder — the same as the original 
ladder in the Bible. I told her, of course, not to be 
irreverent ; but she kept on referring to that ladder and 
saying that she had found out what it meant.” 

“How interesting!” said Miss Travers. “And what 
did it mean ? ” 

“ I really could scarcely tell you,” replied Mrs. Hardy. 
“ It was somehow connected with what she called the 
mystery of the sea. The mystery of the sea and the 
mystery of human life were the same, she said ; and if one 
wished to find out all about the one it would be necessary 
to give all one’s attention to the other.” 

“ How interesting ! ” said Miss Travers once again. 
“ And so you both went up the ladder ? ” 

“ Not both,” said Mrs. Hardy. “ She went on to find 
her heaven at the top. I remained about fifty steps from 
the bottom. I found that if I had to climb to heaven by 
means of steps I should have to content myself with earth. 
Steps are becoming more trying to me every year.” 

“But your niece went on to the top ? 

“She did indeed — every step.” 

“ And did she find her heaven ? ” 

“ She found a man.” 


68 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


“ Oh, you do not suggest that that was the same thing ?” 

“The same thing? I said she found a man — oh, of 
course, I see what you mean now. It was Mr. Charlton 
whom she met. He overtook me where I was resting, and 
I begged him to tell Bertha that I would return to the 
hotel when I recovered sufficient breath to go down. He 
went up that ladder like a — no, monkey isn’t the word — he 
went up, at any rate, as if he had spent some years of his 
life doing nothing but going up ladders. He was very 
civil, and when he heard that we were going to England 
by this steamer he insisted on bringing us aboard. Now 
I wonder if I dare take any of that marmalade. Is there 
much sugar in marmalade — much flesh-forming elements ? 
I am on a r^gime^ and the result is that I daren’t touch 
anything without full inquiries as to its properties. I want 
something that isn’t flesh-forming.” 

Miss Travers said she was sure that marmalade was 
quite harmless, and then she sat silent, lost in thought. 

She had now learnt all that there was to learn regarding 
the matter that had been a mystery to her. Mr. Charlton 
and that girl, whose name she had just heard was Bertha 
Lancaster, had met at the summit of Ladder Hill. She 
had gone up the face of that cliff with a curious feeling 
that at the summit she should discover the greatest felicity 
that the soul of man can conceive of. He had gone up 
with his heart full of that scene which had taken place at 
the summit of the cliff thirty-one years before — a scene to 
which he might even say he owed his very existence. 

Under such circumstances how could it be expected 
that they should refrain from fancying that their strange 
meeting was the result of the operations of a benevolent 
Providence to bring them together ? 

Marian Travers now knew the reason for the change 
which, in her sympathetic frame of mind, she had noticed 
in Julian Charlton. She had fancied that this change 


ON LEADING A HORSE TO THE WATER. 69 

had been due only to a certain jealousy — healthy jealousy, 
she had even called it, as she lay awake thinking over it. 

Oh, fool ! 

And what had she done the previous evening ? She 
had actually, in a light-hearted way, made a jest about 
his pilgrimage to that hill. She had actually assured 
him that she knew what vision it was that had come 
before his eyes at the summit of Ladder Hill. She had 
drawn a picture of a beautiful girl out of her own imag- 
ination, declaring, with a laugh, that such a girl had come 
toward him on the hilltop — such a girl ! She looked at 
Bertha, and. she knew that the girl she had pictured was 
not nearly so beautiful as the real girl who had walked 
toward Charlton. 

Now she knew what he had meant by his strange words 
— they had seemed mysterious to her the previous even- 
ing — there was not much of mystery about them now. 
What was left for her to do ? she asked herself, as she 
stood alone in the middle of her cabin, whither she had 
retired to get her novel after breakfast. 

What was left for her to do ? 

She heard the joyous laughter of Bertha as Charlton 
made some remark to her in a low tone as they went 
toward the companion together. 

What was left for her to do ? 

It has always been a difficult problem. What should a 
young woman do when her lover becomes somebody else’s 
lover "I 

Much sound advice has been given to the young woman 
who has been left alone. She has been assured that the 
proper thing for her to do is to rejoice greatly, inasmuch 
as the lover who allows himself to be tempted away, is no 
true lover, but just the opposite. A lover who gives prom- 
ise of a plentiful harvest of inconstancy should be got rid 
of — so much is certain. 


70 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


If the young woman could only be brought to think 
so. 

But she never can. The young woman thinks that a 
lover with a tendency to inconstancy is better than no lover 
at all. 

She is deeply wounded when he is inconstant, because 
she knows that people will say she was neither clever 
enough nor beautiful enough to keep him constant to 
her. 

But the worst feature of Miss Travers' case was that her 
lover had not declared himself to be such. The one man 
who leads the horse to the water, with infinite tact, giving 
it to understand how delightful a draught of that cool ele- 
ment will be, must certainly attract to himself a good 
deal of sympathy when the stubborn brute refuses to 
drink, ;and resists the efforts of the nineteen assistants 
whose services the man requisitions to make the horse 
drink. 

Mr. Charlton was being coaxed up to the brink of love- 
making, and he not only refused to take the smallest sip 
out of the magic chalice, but he had actually broken the 
silken cord with which he was being led to the fascinating 
draught, and had raced off with his head in the air to where 
a very ordinary cup was being offered to him. 

Who has laid down any rule for the guidance of a young 
woman under circumstances such as these? 

Marian Travers was a sensible girl. She resolved to do 
nothing — just yet. 

She knew that the worst way to go about making a horse 
drink the water that it has refused is to run after it. She 
resolved not to run after her horse. She had heard of silken 
cords having been broken, and afterward re-joined with 
such adroitness that no one could tell where the severance 
had taken place. 

She felt herself equal to the task of reuniting the several 


ON LEADING A HORSE TO THE WATER, 7 1 

parts of the silken cord with which she had endeavored to 
draw Mr. Charlton in the direction of the sweetest draught 
that ever human lips — grew weary of. 

She found her novel, saw that her hair was sufficiently 
untidy to be in keeping with tradition, and went smiling up 
the steps of the companion. 

“ Things are not so bad with her but that she can still 
smile,” said Captain Waring as he watched her go to her 
deck chair, saying a friendly word to Charlie Barham as 
she passed, for everyone liked Charlie. 

“ Things are very bad with her indeed when she finds it 
necessary to smile like that,” said the fascinating Miss Craw- 
ford to herself, as she also watched Marian Travers. 


CHAPTER XII. 


ON THE VORACITY OF THE SHARK. 

M r. JULIAN CHARLTON was no fool — that is to 
say, he was no greater fool than any other person of 
his sex becomes when a girl appears before his eyes. He 
did not hasten to seat himself beside Bertha on the deck. 
He knew that she would find the novel which she had been 
reading on his deck chair in which she had been sitting, 
and he also believed that, if he were not at hand, she would 
reseat herself in that chair. If he were at hand in a seat- 
less condition, or, what was worse, having only a carpet 
deck stool to sit upon, she would insist on yielding his 
own chair back to him. 

He did not want her to do this. He was anxious that 
she should appropriate his chair. He felt that if he suc- 
ceeded in inducing her to do so he would have jus- 
tified a claim to seat himself — in another chair — beside 
her. 

It is questionable if the validity of such a claim would 
be acknowledged by anyone not accustomed to life as 
it exists on the quarter-deck of an ocean steamship. But 
it has already been stated that the fact of Bertha’s hav- 
ing appeared in Charlton’s deck chair was accepted by 
some of the best informed passengers as equivalent to 
his advancing a claim of appropriation of the girl. 

This was, however, an exaggerated view to take of the 
incident ; but there was nothing extravagant in Charlton’s 
hope that he might claim to sit on another and a much 
less comfortable chair in the vicinity of his own at any 
time of the day. 


72 


ON THE VORACITY OF THE SHARK. 


73 


After breakfast he strolled quietly off to the bridge and 
took a cigar out of his case, and lighted it, as he usually 
did after breakfast, whether the day was fine or wet. 

Several of the other passengers were smoking at this 
part of the ship, and one of them joined him in a languid 
stroll to and fro. The stroll forward was extremely unin- 
teresting to Charlton, for only the forecabin passengers and 
the sailors around the fo’c’s’le were visible ; but the return 
stroll was different, for then he could see all the quarter- 
deck, beneath the white sailcloth awning. 

The first turn that he made enabled him to see Bertha 
Lancaster standing irresolute in front of the chair upon 
which her novel was lying ; then his tiresome companion, 
talking away on the topic which he had made his own — 
the necessity for an international gallery of photographs — 
turned right about, and it was quite a minute and a half 
before Charlton was in a position to catch a glimpse of 
the girl again. It was an outrageous waste of time, to be 
sure, but he had only to submit to it. 

The next turn showed him the girl talking to her maid 
Miriam, who carried a cushion. Then once more, to the 
marching song of “ to increase the consolidation of the 
British Empire, my dear sir, is to consolidate the guarantees 
of peace,” the view of the fore part of the ship was forced 
upon Charlton. When this barren waste was again behind 
him he was in a position to notice that Miriam had placed 
the cushion in the trustworthy chair which Mrs. Hardy had 
occupied, and that Bertha had sunk back into his own. 

What exquisite feet she had, to be sure 1 

His companion was somewhat surprised at the eagerness 
with which he declared that he had never been so convinced 
of the magnificent possibilities of photography. The gentle- 
man, who had attained to the dignity of a Nuisance in the 
House of Commons, felt that at last he had got hold of a 
sensible man. 


74 


I FORBID THE BANNS ! 


A sensible man was, in his estimation, a man who would 
listen to his nonsense without a murmur. 

In the course of the drone that followed on the well-known 
phrases “ international intercourse,” “ our dependencies 
beyond the sea,” “ Imperial Federation,” “ strengthening 
of the ties,” “ the mother country,” “ the van of civilization ” 
— in the course of this drone, lasting over an hour, Charlton 
had many opportunities of observing the quarter-deck. 

He saw that Bertha was lying back with inimitable grace 
in his chair, and that she had not opened her novel. 

Never had the Nuisance found a more rapt audience than 
Charlton. Even the Nuisance could see that he was lost in 
thought, now that he was placed in possession of the facts 
bearing upon the photograph question ; and so he droned 
away more diligently than ever. 

Why was she sitting in that way, Charlton was wondering. 
Why was she sending her eyes wandering vaguely over the 
wide expanse of waters, instead of over the pages of fiction 
lying on her knee ? What was she thinking of ? 

Was it possible that she was thinking over that sentence 
which he had said to her, “ I have met you ” ? 

Was he justified in saying those words to her ? Did he 
really believe in the depths of his heart that the satisfaction 
of his life was meeting with her ? Most certainly he felt 
this. Then was he satisfied that his life should end here — 
that to obtain her love should be the be-all and the end-all 
of his life ? Ah, could he doubt the reply that his heart 
made to his questions ? He was not only content that his 
life should end in her — that apart from her he should never 
live in the world — but he felt that, having met her, he would 
not have the courage to face the future apart from her. 

And yet he had not known her for longer than eighteen 
hours. 

The possibility of securing to the nations of the earth per- 
petual peace by means of an exchange of photographs, was 


ON- THE FOE A Cl TV OF THE SHARK. 


75 


undoubtedly a fascinating topic ; but Charlton was heartily 
tired of it, and he surprised the Nuisance greatly by declar- 
ing that he must go below for another cigar. 

Charlton had spent an hour and a *half away from Bertha 
in addition to the twenty-nine years of his life which he had 
passed subjected to the same privation, and yet when he 
found himself within his cabin, instead of refilling his cigar 
case and hurrying to her side, he seated himself on the side 
of his bunk, and looked out of his port over the rippling 
waste of waters. 

The bell had rung for tiffen before he stirred from this 
uncomfortable position ; and before he had changed his 
linen coat the saloon was ringing with the laughter and the 
pleasant chatter of the passengers who had descended for 
one of the pleasantest of the many pleasant meals aboard 
an ocean steamship. 

He could hear the voice of Bertha answering the boyish 
seriousness of Charlie Barham. It was clear that the mid- 
shipman, who was being conveyed to England on urgent 
private affairs from the gunboat Bluebottle at Simon's 
Bay, had, in accordance with the best traditions associated 
with the British navy, not shrunk from the duty of making 
Miss Lancaster feel herself to be among friends aboard 
the Carnarvon Castle. 

The girl was standing leaning with her hands behind her 
against her seat at the table, and the handsome lad was 
finishing his account of some incidents that had lately 
come under his personal observation, illustrating in the 
clearest possible way the extraordinary voracity of sharks 
in the Indian Ocean. 

No story with a shark incidentally introduced can fail to 
be interesting. If told by a midshipman in her Majesty’s 
navy who possesses a lively imagination, and who is at the 
same time quite devoid of all scruples, such a story may 
frequently become enthralling. 


76 “/ FORBID THE BANNS!'' 

Charlie Barham had no foolish scruples on the score of 
veracity — voracity was his topic, which is quite another 
matter — so he succeeded in keeping Bertha enthralled. 
She stood beaming upon the boy, while he told her how 
the marine who was bathing, having once got a firm hold 
of the shark's tail, succeeded in steering the fish in the 
direction of the father of the boy it had just swallowed, 
when, owing to the happy accident of the father having 
brought an oyster knife into the water with him, for the 
purpose of detaching from the rocks the edible mollusks of 
which he was passionately fond, the brute was, after a 
sharp fight, destroyed ; then, to the amazement of all, the 
lad forced his way through the aperture in the shark’s 
body made by the oyster knife, and was found very little 
the worse for his singular adventure. 

“ What arm of the service do you say the man belonged 
to ? ” asked Charlton. 

“ I said he was a marine,” replied the midshipman. 

“And did he tell the story to his messmates in the same 
corps ? ” said Charlton. 

There was a little pause before all the audience except 
Bertha began to laugh. 

“ I don’t see why you should laugh, Mr. Charlton,” said 
she. “ I don’t think I ever heard a more remarkable story. 
I shall never forget it.” 

“ Thank you. Miss Lancaster,” said the boy. “ I have 
told that story to several people, and I can safely say that 
I never yet found anyone to believe it. I will never forget 
your kindness. As for these idiots who laugh at it ” 

He turned to give a look of ineffable scorn at Charlton ; 
but Charlton was deep in a chutney jar, and a look of scorn 
would be wasted on him, the boy perceived ; so he trotted 
round to the opposite side of the table. 

So elated was he with his success that he told Miss 
Lancaster across the tablecloth another pleasant little story 


ON THE VORACITY OF THE SHARE. 


77 


of the same type, respecting a man who was unfortunate 
enough to fall over the ship’s side one evening in Simon’s 
Bay. The body was not recovered for a week, and then it 
was found so incrusted with specimens of mollusks that the 
commodore was able to give an oyster supper to the flag 
officers of the flying squadron that was in the bay. So 
great was the success of the entertainment that, when 
another man fell overboard from the flagship, the com- 
modore at once issued invitations for a supper that day 
week. There was great consternation aboard the flagship, 
however, when the afternoon of that day arrived, and yet 
there was no sign of the oysters appearing. The com- 
modore was greatly, and, as Mr. Midshipman Barham 
thought, very reasonably, annoyed at the want of punctu- 
ality displayed in the matter ; but just as he had ordered a 
boat with drags to be cleared away, one of the men sang 
out, ‘ Oyster stall off port bow, sir,’ and, sure enough, there 
were the materials for a supper’ which Mr. Midshipman 
Barham at any rate had enjoyed thoroughly. 

It can easily be understood that so long as this brilliant 
raconteur was sitting opposite Miss Lancaster, Mr. Charlton 
had no chance of talking to her either respecting the 
aspects of modern science or on any other topic. He saw, 
however, that she was amused at this audacious boy’s yarns, 
and he made no attempt to put in a word. He felt that as 
there was a considerable interval between tiffen and dinner, 
Fate would be particularly hard upon him if he failed to 
have at least an hour beside the girl. 

But he found that Charlie Barham was resolute in his 
determination to follow up the advantage which he had 
gained at tiffen ; for when Miss Lancaster came on deck, 
and seated herself in Charlton’s chair, the boy assured her 
that she was doing herself an injustice in sitting in a seat 
that was manifestly so far from comfortable. If she would 
but test the easiness of his chair, which he would have 


78 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/*' 


pleasure in placing at her disposal, she would, he was 
confident, never return to Charlton’s. 

It was in vain that the girl protested that the chair which 
she was occupying was extremely comfortable ; he would 
not be denied — she must at least try his. 

Charlton watched the transaction from a distance. He 
saw the vexed look come to the girl’s face in spite of her 
determination not to hurt the feelings of a young gentle- 
man whose sensitiveness might still have survived a four 
years’ service aboard a man of war. Charlton strolled 
across the deck to the scene of the struggle between the 
girl’s courtesy and the boy’s kindness. His approach was 
resented by a murderous glare on the part of the mid- 
shipman. 

“ Mr. Charlton,” said Bertha, “ I am being overwhelmed 
with kindness. Will you help me to assure Mr. Barham ” 
— he had told her his name — “ that the chair I am sitting 
in is the most comfortable on the deck ? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Charlton. “ But is it the most com- 
fortable ? ” 

“ I want Miss Lancaster to try mine,” cried the boy. “ I 
don’t insist on her appropriating it if it is less comfortable 
than yours.” 

“ That’s very considerate of you,” said Charlton. 
“ Pray give the chair a chance. Miss Lancaster. From a 
casual glance at it I am bound to say that I think it looks 
much more comfortable than the one you are in.” 

“ Oh, I do not mind trying it,” said the girl, her look of 
vexation vanishing. 

She sprang to her feet and Charlie kindly placed his 
chair in the most enticing position beside the other, and 
held it as if it had been a horse that the girl was about to 
mount. It was undoubtedly a comfortable chair ; and 
the Cashmere shawl which Charlie had fastened on the back 
— one that he was bringing home as a present to his sister 


ON THE VORACITY OF THE SHARK, 79 

— gave it an appearance of magnificence that was truly 
Oriental. 

Miss Lancaster sank into the chair and her shapely head 
rested on the Cashmere shawl. The subtle drapery made a 
most effective background for her beautiful face. 

“ There ! ” cried Charlie. “ Come, you will confess that 
that is the very thing for Miss Lancaster,” and he turned 
with an air of triumph to Charlton. 

“I frankly admit it,” said Charlton. “It is not only 
more comfortable, but infinitely more beautiful than this 
thing,” and he moved his own a trifle closer to the other. 
“Yes,” he added. “You are fortunate in having placed 
at your disposal, Miss Lancaster, a seat that suggests the 
wealth of Ormuz and of Ind, as well as the comfort of 
Tottenham Court Road.” 

Then he quietly sat down in his own chair just vacated 
by Bertha, and inquired of her if she did not think that the 
story which was in her hand — it was “ The Woodlanders,” 
was the greatest work of fiction that recent years had pro- 
duced. 

She replied quickly that she had read the book twice, and 
was now trying to get into a frame of mind to read it a 
third time. 

“That is sufficient to tell me what you think of it,” 
said Charlton. “ I chanced to see you once or twice while 
I was having a cigar after breakfast, and I noticed that 
you did not opdn your book. When I found just now that 
that book was ‘ The Woodlanders,’ I felt that you were 
right to defer as long as possible the enjoyment of reading 
such a book. I wish I had it still before me.” 

Charlie Barham was standing in front of the chair which 
he had induced Miss Lancaster to occupy. He remained 
in that position while Mr. Charlton was expressing the 
wish that he had still the reading of Mr. Thomas Hardy’s 
best novel before him, and he remained while Miss Lan- 


8o 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!'' 


caster replied that authors were so variable she had long 
ago abandoned the habit she once had had, of looking at 
the outside of a novel by a favorite writer for some days, 
anticipating the enjoyment that the reading would bring 
her. She now preferred, she said, the enjoyment of read- 
ing quickly, and thinking slowly over her favorites. 

At this point Charlie Barham turned round and strolled 
away to the stern of the steamer. He spent half an hour 
looking over the side into the snows of the wake, and 
would not so much as give a glance in the direction of 
Miss Lancaster and the man — he was a very contemptible 
man, Charlie felt — who was talking to her, and occasionally, 
as he could hear, making her laugh. At the end of half an 
hour, however, his sulky mood had dropped from him into 
the wake of the steamer, and he went amidships to where a 
game of rope quoits was being played. He flattered him- 
self that if he knew nothing about Thomas Hardy as a 
novel writer, he could knock the head off anybody aboard 
the ship at rope quoits. 

When he came aft in an hour or two, Mr. Charlton and 
Miss Lancaster were still talking. 

Well, what did he care ? Let them talk. 

Only he would be even with that fellow Charlton yet. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

ON A REVELATION. 


M ISS TRAVERS knew that it was a foregone conclu- 
sion. 

And so it was. 

He made no attempt to resist falling in love with her. 
She made no attempt to resist falling in love with him. 
The open way in which they fell in love with one another 
was almost indecent. 

Miss Travers’ reflections took this sequence as she 
watched Julian Charlton and Bertha Lancaster daily and 
nightly on the deck and in the saloon of the Carnarvon 
Castle. 

It was outrageous, she felt, that they should make no 
attempt to conceal from their fellow-passengers that they 
were in love with one another — nay, they made no attempt 
to conceal it even from any of the crew. She herself had 
noticed a quartermaster, who came aft to relieve another at 
the wheel, put his tongue in his cheek and make a motion 
with his arms as if he were hugging someone, so soon as he 
had jerked his thumb in the direction of where Charlton 
and Bertha were sitting, Mrs. Hardy slumbering placidly 
in her chair by their side. 

It was absolutely scandalous, she felt, that such things 
should be. 

She had read accounts of the safety of ships having been 
imperiled through the evil deeds of their passengers. There 
was the case of Jonah— perhaps the most prominent on 
record. They had had a narrow shave aboard that vessel. 
Then there was the case of Philip Vanderdecken — not quite 

8i 


82 


**/ FORBID THE BANNS 


SO trustworthy, perhaps, but still good enough for operatic 
purposes and full of point, and an apt illustration of what 
was on her mind. 

She wished that the voyage of the Carnarvon Castle was 
safely over. 

Even if they had not been attracted to one another by 
the peculiar circumstances of their meeting, they would. 
Miss Travers believed, have seen that they loved one 
another when they came together aboard the ship. Bertha 
Lancaster was adored by all the male passengers ; Mr. 
Crawford confided to her the political significance of the 
Walrus^ as well as that of the Carpenter in “ Alice in Won- 
derland,” and was ready to accept any suggestion she 
might make on a matter which had caused him many nights 
of earnest speculation — namely, the identity of the Turtle. 
Did she consider that the author’s aim was to symbolize the 
City of London, or did he actually mean to satirize one 
eminent politician ? The Lobster as an abstract principle 
was particularly susceptible of allegorical treatment, Mr. 
Crawford thought, and he should like to have Miss Lancas- 
ter’s views on a point which, if not delicately treated, might 
jeopardize the value of his work. 

Then the Parliamentary Nuisance confided to her his 
aspirations on the subject of the international photo- 
graphic gallery, Cyril Southcote laid his choicest paradox 
at her feet. Captain Waring offered to teach her something 
of the general principles of poker, and Charlie Barham 
risked his prospect of eternal bliss by the enormity of the 
yarns he told her. 

The captain himself had, it was rumored, put the steamer 
off her course in order that Miss Lancaster might obtain the 
view of the island of Palma, for which she had expressed a 
longing. 

Yes, Miss Travers perceived that Bertha was adored by 
all the men belonging to the ship’s company ; though it was 


ON A REVELATION, 83 

a most remarkable thing that she was not made the object 
of the adoration of the women. 

For the first few days that she had been aboard the Car- 
narvon Castle some of the ladies, headed by Mrs. Howard, 
had shown a disposition to discharge toward her that agree- 
able duty known as “taking her up.” 

She was so young, they said. 

And inclined to be good looking. 

And her aunt was so greatly given to slumber in the day- 
time. 

The first step in taking up any girl is to get her to confide 
in you. 

The second is to tell her her most conspicuous faults. 

Then she is taken up. 

But Bertha Lancaster was not without experience of this 
social rapture ; and she declined to be taken up even by 
Mrs. Howard, giving that lady to understand so much with- 
out a moment’s delay, lest there might be any mistake. 

The method which she adopted, with great success, was 
a simple one. When Mrs. Howard, with two other ladies, 
endeavored to get this young Australian girl to confide in 
them regarding her past life and its mysteries, she had 
informed them with artless simplicity that her father had 
been a convict. 

The revelation produced a profound impression upon the 
ladies to whom it was made. 

They took her hand and said they sympathized deeply 
with her, and then they found that they had some very 
important duties to discharge in other parts of the ship. 
Mrs. Howard believed that she saw Marian Travers beck- 
oning to her ; Mrs. Glossop wondered how she had been so 
stupid as to forget her embroidery in the saloon ; and Mrs. 
Barnes, who was deficient in imagination, said she had a 
headache. 

So Bertha was not taken up. 


84 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!'* 


The same evening Captain Waring learnt casually from 
Mrs. Hardy that her late brother had left property in Aus- 
tralia of such magnitude that the income it yielded was 
close upon twelve thousand pounds a year, and that all had 
been bequeathed unreservedly to his daughter Bertha, with 
the recommendation to allow her aunt a tenth part of this 
income so long as she lived. 

Captain Waring had no foolish scruples about spreading 
abroad this information. He spread it abroad ; and the 
result was certainly not to diminish the girl’s popularity 
among the men. 

Mrs. Howard was no more reticent on the subject of 
the information she had received than Captain Waring 
had been on the subject of the money, and the result in 
this case was not to increase the girl’s popularity with the 
women. 

But when Mrs. Howard, out of a pure feeling of the 
warmest friendship for Charlton, informed him that she 
had discovered that that pretty Miss Lancaster, poor 
thing, had had a convict for a father, which was not, of 
course, her fault, poor thing, but which was still a 
very melancholy subject for reflection, Charlton had such 
a fit of laughter as caused some consternation to the 
lady. Several minutes had elapsed before he had 
recovered himself sufficiently to be able to apologize 
for his rudeness, and to assure Mrs. Howard that he had 
rarely heard of anything so melancholy as the piece of news 
which she had just communicated to him. 

“You have a peculiar way of exhibiting your melancholy, 
Mr. Charlton, I must say,” remarked the lady, when he had 
found it impossible to refrain from yielding to another 
paroxysm. 

But when, in the course of the evening. Captain Waring 
told him that Mrs. Hardy had incidentally mentioned in her 
own guileless way that her niece’s income amounted to 


ON A REVELATION. 


85 


a trifle under twelve thousand pounds a year, Charlton did 
not laugh ; on the contrary, he became extremely serious. 

During the next few days there were enacted aboard the 
Carnarvon Castle several scenes of a remarkable character. 
Mrs. Howard, and the two other matrons of the main, took 
occasion to inform every man among the first-class passen- 
gers, that the father of that pretty Miss Lancaster — they 
could now afford to allow that she was pretty, her looks 
being, as they considered, far more than counterbalanced by 
her parental misfortune — had been working out his time at 
a place called Botany Bay. 

On receiving this information each of the men had 
become, as was only natural, as well as decent, extremely 
grave ; but, being men, they were skeptical on the subject 
of the disabilities of a girl, whom they regarded as unusually 
pretty. They had consequently gone in turn to Charlton to 
ask him what was his opinion regarding the amount of 
credence to be given to the story of Miss Lancaster’s parent- 
age. Also because they were men some of them rather 
hoped that Charlton would be so shocked by the story that 
he would allow Miss Lancaster more time in future to devote 
to themselves. 

Charlton did not hesitate to tell every man who came to 
him the true story of the late Mr. Lancaster’s term of penal 
servitude ; and the result was that while all the ladies looked 
grave, and, with true delicacy of feeling, were careful to 
abstain from introducing any topic which suggested, how- 
ever remotely, penal servitude, and which consequently 
might wound the susceptibilities of Miss Lancaster, the men 
were brutally, and quite unnecessarily, careless in their 
remarks regarding such topics. Captain Waring was actu- 
ally heard to chant a vulgar song supposed to be sung by 
a convict, the chorus being a farewell to Great Britain, as the 
singer declared he was “ going to Australia at her Majesty’s 
expense.” 


86 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


While the chorus was being sung sotto voce by some of 
Waring’s friends around a cabin skylight, the matrons sat 
mute and severe in the saloon, and glanced significantly at 
one another, when a roar of laughter followed the vulgar 
song. 

Not for some days did they learn that that horrid girl 
who was so outrageously fond of the society of men, had 
actually been making fools of them — the matrons of many 
a campaign. 

Thus the days went on, until the steamer had gained the 
latitude of Finistere ; and Marian Travers stood on the 
grating beside the wheel, watching Charlton and Bertha 
standing side by side at the bulwarks, trying if they could 
see land. 

It was a foregone conclusion, she admitted. 

At the bulwarks on the opposite side of the ship Cyril 
Southcote had found an audience of one, and his words 
sounded — as he meant they should — through a considerable 
radius. 

* My dear fellow,” he was saying, “the greatest happiness 
that can ever come to a man in this life is to meet the woman 
who refused to marry him ten years before.” 

“ And what about the woman who meets the man who 
refused to marry her ten years before?” asked Cyril’s 
audience. 

“ She also is happy,” said the philosopher. 

“ Happy ? How ? ” 

“ She flings her children in his face,” said Cyril. 

“ That’s rather rough on the children,” said his com- 
panion. 

Marian Travers pondered upon this philosophy. 

She sent her eyes out over the great deep. There also 
she found comfort. She knew that that element contained 
as fine fish as were ever hooked by man— or woman. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


ON THE KISS. 

A fter an extremely good dinner the passengers on the 
quarter-deck of an ocean steamship are disposed to be 
lenient critics of fiction. The two forms of this element 
which comes into prominence at such a time are the experi- 
ences of the captain, narrated to an admiring circle, and the 
protestations of the young men to the maidens — sometimes, 
alas ! to the matrons — as they sit together watching the stars 
appear in the sky. 

On the quarter-deck of the Carnariwn Castle the usual 
stories were being told. The captain had finished his cigar, 
and had placed himself unreservedly in the hands of two 
pretty little girls — they had pretty little mothers — so far as 
story-telling was concerned. 

Yes, he said, he had several times come into immediate 
contact with buccaneers off the Spanish Main, and the times 
that he had encountered pirates were really so numerous 
that he long ago ceased to remember any one in particular. 
Who was the funniest buccaneer that he had ever known ? 
Well, really he could scarcely say at a moment’s notice who 
had been the funniest ; they had all developed such humor- 
ous characteristics it would be practically impossible to say 
to whom the palm for general fun should be awarded. For 
his own part he should feel compelled to decline making 
any invidious distinction between them, lest he might be 
doing an injustice to some worthy buccaneer of a sensitive 
nature. Were they usually sensitive ? Oh, dear, yes. 
They were, as a rule, so ridiculously susceptible that their 
own bosom friends occasionally shrank from entering into 

87 


88 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


any criticism of even their most superficial weaknesses — 
unless the critics were handy in the use of their revolvers. 
He had never personally known a buccaneer actually dying 
of a broken heart ; but he had certainly heard of one who 
died after drinking steadily at a gallon jar of Jamaica rum, 
and that was much the same thing. There’s a difference 
between a broken heart and an empty rum jar ? Well, per- 
haps, strictly speaking, there is ; but the principle is pre- 
cisely the same. At least after drinking the gallon of rum 
the buccaneer was just as dead as if his heart had been 
broken. His chief officer was so jealous of the memory of 
his commander, he had declared that he had died, not from 
the direct effects of the spirit, but owing to his mortification 
on discovering, as he did after a while, that the rum was not 
neat — that some unprincipled scoundrel had extracted a 
quart from the jar, which he had filled up with water. His 
chief officer declared that the shock of this discovery had 
been too much for his commander. Had he found out who 
the man was that had played such a trick upon him it 
might have been too much for the man as well. Yes, con- 
tinued the captain, buccaneers are not invariably among 
the most temperate of men. They would be no use what- 
ever to writers of romances of the sea if they did not drink 
pretty heavily. Some of them occasionally lapse into sobri- 
ety, and then they cease to interest anyone. He had once 
met a buccaneer who had been induced to sign the pledge 
at a tea meeting held in his native village. He kept his 
pledge too — that was the worst of it. A well-known 
romance writer had offered him a large keg of the choicest 
French brandy, almost a year old ; it was no use. He 
remained sober, and the terror of the Spanish Main — wher- 
ever that was. After many deeds of appalling bloodshed, 
people naturally were on the lookout for an instructive death 
scene in which the man should slowly perish of the ague 
shakes or something of that sort ; but no, he remained 


ON THE KISS. 


89 

sober and put in an appearance at all the tea meetings. It 
was found impossible to make away with him, so after many 
years of dishonest industry and strict sobriety he retired 
from business with an ample fortune. 

“ And what did he die of at last ? ” 

“Why,’ he’s not dead yet. After retiring from active 
buccaneering, he went in for a little farming ; but he soon 
tired of this life. The fact was, he still had a hankering 
after his old trade. He sold his little property, and was 
about to buy the usual rakish looking schooner, when he 
met with a far-seeing friend, who advised him to abandon 
his project and get on the Stock Exchange instead. He 
took his friend’s advice, but he didn’t remain on the Stock 
Exchange. He declared. that, though he didn’t mind buc- 
caneering, still he had something of a conscience left. He 
was then advised to join some speculators in America who 
were engaged in making a number of corners. He did 
so, and he is now happy and contented. He declares 
that he can scarcely tell the difference between his new 
and his old business. He has just bought the finest Hol- 
bein in Europe, and is the most eminent collector of 
Mazarin Bibles in the world. 

“ I wonder,” said Charlton, “ if you would be greatly 
surprised if I told you that I loved you.” 

The remark was addressed to Bertha Lancaster. She 
had not been sitting with Charlton, but with Mr. Craw- 
ford, the interpreter of “ Alice in Wonderland.” Mr. 
Crawford had, however, found it necessary to hasten to his 
cabin for the purpose of jotting down an idea that had 
occurred to him. “ Why might the Oyster not signify Mr. 
Gladstone?” he had asked Bertha, in the course of his 
conversation. 

“ Why not, indeed ? ” she had replied, and with this 
encouragement he had risen — as indeed she hoped he 
would — and hurried within reach of his writing materials. 


90 


**/ FORBID THE BANNS!'* 


Charlton had been watching her for more than an hour, 
and now he bent over her chair, saying : 

I wonder if you would be greatly surprised if I told 
you that I loved you.” 

“ No,” she answered ; “ I know you can no more help 
loving me than I can help loving you.” 

“And you cannot help it, Bertha?” 

“ I cannot help it. I have tried hard to avoid it with 
you as I have done with other men ; I had no difficulty so 
far as they were concerned, but I have found it impossible 
with you.” 

“ I noticed a look of defiance on your face when you 
learned from your aunt that we were to be passengers on 
the same steamer. Did that mean that you were ready to 
defy Fate? ” 

“ Yes, it meant that exactly. I know what was in my 
heart at that moment.” 

“ And you know what is in it now ? ” 

“ I am as certain of it as I am certain that I am 
living. The thirsty man, who has taken a draught of 
spring water, knows that he has drank it. His thirst is 
gone.” 

“ You have thirsted after love, Bertha ?” 

“ I have thirsted after love — that love which means lov- 
ing as well as being loved — that love which is the essence 
of the human soul — that love which is the natural yearning 
of two souls to become one — one through all time and into 
the space beyond.” 

“ My beloved, say that it is the yearning of an incom- 
plete soul for completion — the yearning of the river for the 
sea — the yearning — ah, Bertha, we cannot define it. If 
love could be defined it would cease to be love.” 

“It would,” she said. “It would sink to the level of 
science or theology.” 

“ It is enough that we can feel it beating in out heart- 


ON THE KISS. 91 

beats, Bertha. My heart has found the life that makes it 
beat — my soul has found its sister soul,” 

He had seated himself beside her and he felt for her 
hand. She placed it trustfully in his. 

They were sitting outside one of those brilliant tunnels 
radiating from the electric light of the quarter-deck. Only 
a few of the more restless of the passengers approached 
the place were they were sitting ; still he did not think it 
prudent to make the attempt to kiss her. 

He held her hand and looked into her face. Even out- 
side the sphere of influence of the electric light he could 
see its white loveliness. He held her hand. He had a 
sudden yearning to kiss her. 

From what source the yearning to kiss her sprang, it 
would perhaps have been difficult for him to say. “ Soul 
meets soul on lover’s lips,” Shelley sang. But Mr. Charl- 
ton and Miss Lancaster had just been expressing their 
fervent belief that their own souls had met and mingled 
and become one, without the necessity for introducing the 
mystic agency of a kiss. On what grounds, then, should 
he yearn for that wholly superfluous kiss ? The kiss has 
received the apostolic benediction, but only as a mode of 
greeting between brethren. Unfortunately it was not the 
kiss of brethren that he yearned for. It was the kiss 
inspired by Eros, who, we know,. was intimately connected 
by birth with Aphrodite. That family has, for a considera- 
ble number of years, had an evil reputation, especially 
among such persons as live only in an atmosphere of 
spiritual love, which is just the opposite to that system of 
life of which Aphrodite was an exponent. 

Just as his yearning was at its highest the electric light 
gave a couple of intoxicated blinks, then shone forth in 
renewed splendor for about a minute, and then went out. 
The blackness of darkness into which the deck was plunged 
was appalling. It did not, however, cause Julian Chari- 


92 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


ton’s yearning to be eclipsed. In a second after the light 
had gone out he had his arms about Bertha, and was kiss- 
ing her passionately on the lips. 

What was extremely curious was that she did not seem to 
be in the least surprised. She actually seemed to have had 
that yearning, which found its culmination in that kiss. 

Alas ! the flesh was willing but the spirit was weak. 

The apostolic kiss was not founded on such a propor- 
tion of the two elements. Spirituality is its strong point. 

This is possibly why the apostolic kiss has ceased to be 
popular, while the other shows no sign of being super- 
seded by a glance into the interior of a black hat. 

Then the fickle illuminant of the deck flashed forth once 
more, after an uncertain minute or two. 

“ There is some defect in the insulation,” said the cap- 
tain. “ The earth contact is probably defective. That 
sacred spark, you must know,” he continued to his worship- 
ing circle of girls — “ that sacred spark only burns clearly 
when the contact with the earth is well defined.” 

“ What does he mean ? ” said Bertha, in a low tone. 

‘‘ He is talking elementary science,” replied Julian, a 
trifle huskily. 

« Oh ! ” 


CHAPTER XV. 


CONCERNING PROPOSITIONS. 

I T is delightful to awake with that feeling which thrills 
one to the finger tips, as it thrilled Julian Charlton 
when he opened his eyes in his bunk on the port side of 
the Carnarvon Castle — the feeling that one has one’s love 
returned. Sometimes this feeling prevents one from 
closing one’s eyes at night. In such a case the pleasure 
of awaking with a consciousness of being thrilled by that 
feeling is lost. 

He did not hurry on deck, as he had frequently done on 
other mornings, when he regarded as wasted every moment 
spent apart from Bertha. When he found himself by her 
side and the side of her aunt, he saw that Bertha’s face 
was roseate. Her lips were particularly brilliant. 

Could it be that the dye of that fervent kiss of his had 
remained upon her lips, and her face, he wondered. 

Mrs. Hardy looked at him and smiled. Then she looked 
at Bertha and smiled again. 

Could it be that Bertha had during the night informed 
her aunt that her soul had been successful in its search 
after its long parted sister soul ? 

If she had done so Mrs. Hardy was clearly ready to offer 
him her warm congratulations — the congratulations of a 
mother in Philistia. He shrank from such a tribute to his 
success in wooing. 

He felt that the acknowledgment that any success had 
been achieved by him had a tendency to diminish the mystic 
element which undoubtedly entered largely into the love 
existing between himself and Bertha. The Roman braves 


93 


94 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


were to be congratulated upon their successful wooing of 
the Sabine maidens ; but there was nothing particularly 
mystic about such a wooing. It was not a rushing of kin- 
dred souls together — the mingling of sister spirits. It did 
very well for the Romans, and for the Sabines also ; and it 
produced a race of some distinction in their day. It would 
not do for the latter years of the nineteenth century, how- 
ever. 

Mrs. Hardy smiled away, first at Bertha, then at Julian, 
then at both of them, then at the much sounding sea, then 
at the poached eggs on the breakfast table. 

Dearest,” said Julian when he found himself alone with 
Bertha in the empty saloon after breakfast — “dearest, 

have you told your aunt that we are ” He was going to 

say “ engaged,” but he hesitated — the word sounded com- 
monplace — “ bound to one another ” was the phrase that 
he found after a pause of a few seconds. “ Have you told 
her that we are bound to one another ? ” 

“ I have told her nothing,” said Bertha. “ Our bond 
concerns ourselves alone.'^ 

“ Then why did she go about smiling in that suggestive 
way ? ” said he. “ I actually feared that she was about to 
offer me her congratulations — just as if we were the ordi- 
nary lovers of society.” 

“ Oh, no,” said Bertha. “ It could never come to that.” 

“But how can she know that ” Again he hesitated, 

and this time the exact spiritual equivalent for the mundane 
phrase which was in his mind did not at once occur to him. 
He could not blurt out “ that there is anything between 
us.” There was nothing between them — that was just the 
point on which most emphasis should be laid. Their souls 
had mingled. 

“ She can know nothing ; I have said no word to her,” 
answered Bertha, without waiting for him to find the exact 
phrase of which he was in search. 


CONCERNING PROPOSITIONS. 


95 


“ But I am certain from the way she smiled ” 

It was now Bertha’s turn to smile. 

“ The thief doth think each bush an officer,” she whis- 
pered, looking into his face with sparkling eyes. 

“ Perhaps so,” said he, with a responsive laugh. 

But all the same he felt that Mrs. Hardy perceived that 
he had told Bertha that he loved her, and that Bertha had 
not received the information in a hostile spirit. 

He was set wondering how it could be that a common- 
place elderly lady, whose greatest trials in the world were 
steps and stairs, was able to read a matter which he believed 
to be a profound secret — in fact a mystery. By what means 
did that lady, who seemed to devote so large a proportion 
of her few waking hours to the consideration of such com- 
estibles as possessed a minimum of flesh-forming qualities 
— by what means did she discover that he and Bertha had 
come to an understanding with regard to the' unity of their 
souls ? (That was the phrase he wanted.) 

Even if Mrs. Hardy had been awake — which she had not 
been — when the electric light had blinked and gone out, she 
could not have witnessed the little incident which followed, 
leaving their faces flushed and their hearts beating with 
unusual rapidity. 

He began to think that Mrs. Hardy was gifted with higher 
powers of perception than he had placed to her credit. Of 
course it was ridiculous to fancy that Mrs. Hardy could un- 
derstand anything of that mystery of mingling souls which 
constituted real love ; but that system of smiles which she 
had developed in the course of the morning plainly suggested 
to him that Mrs. Hardy would, with a little encouragement, 
have actually expressed to him her warm congratulations 
upon a matter which she would probably have termed 
their engagement. (A horrid word !) 

He had a curious shrinking from commonplace con- 
gratulations ; and this caused him to remain apart from 


96 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!" 


Bertha nearly all the day. He actually fancied that his 
adoption of this drastic measure would prevent anyone 
among the passengers of the Carnarvon Castle from follow- 
ing the example set by Mrs. Hardy, so far as her smiles 
were concerned. It was quite likely, he could not help 
feeling, that some persons aboard might have been led to 
believe that he had been showing attention — that is how 
they would put it — to Miss Lancaster. He determined to 
put an end to such impressions, and so he kept apart from 
her during the day. 

That should do the business for him, he felt. 

The result of his pursuing this course was that Cap- 
tain Waring remarked to Cyril Southcote : 

“ That fellow Charlton is further gone than I thought. 
It’s my impression that he has landed her. He had been 
denouncing poker as the last refuge of the brainless, but 
this morning he asked me if I would have a game. He 
won thirty shillings from me. He couldn’t have done that 
if he had had anything on his mind.” 

“ Is Saul also among the prophets ? ” cried Cyril. 

‘‘Saul— Saul? What Saul?” 

“ Is the Bayonnetteer among the psychologists ? ” 

“ The what ? ” 

“ The Introspectors.” 

“You are madder than ever,” said Waring, turning away. 
“ I say that a man can’t have the two things on his mind 
— a girl and poker. He must give up either the one 
or the other.” 

“And Charlton has, you fancy, given up the girl?” 

“ He has made certain of her — that’s all the same. He 
won thirty shillings off me.” 

“ That’s conclusive.” 

“ It would be to any fellow of ordinary dullness, like the 
most of us. I don’t suppose it would satisfy you, South- 
cote.’* 


CONCERNING PROPOSITIONS. 


97 


“ My dear friend,” said Southcote, “any opinion that you 
may pronounce regarding poker would be thoroughly satis- 
factory to me.” 

By this Mr. Southcote wished it to be understood that 
he estimated at a very low value any opinion that Captain 
Waring might be led to pronounce on anothersubject. But 
however this might be, no sooner had Charlton gone on the 
bridge with a cigar after dinner than Cyril said to him cas- 
ually : 

“ By the way, Charlton, do you remember expressing the 
opinion, when we were conversing on the subject of the 
phenomenon of love, that the process of mutual attraction 
was gradual, not sudden ? ” 

“ I rerhember perfectly well,” said Charlton. 

“ And you recollect, perhaps, that I expressed my belief 
in the sudden process ? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ Have you given any thought to the subject in the mean- 
time, may I ask ? ” 

“ Thought ? no — I have thought nothing about it.” 

“ Then you hold your opinion still ?” 

“Anything but that,” said Charlton. 

“ What ? But you said you had given the subject no 
thought ? ” 

“ And do you fancy that any human being ever came to 
a satisfactory conclusion on such a subject by thinking about 
it ? Do you really fancy that the phenomenon, as you call 
it, is an intellectual process ? ” 

“ Certainly I do not. The first symptom of the disease 
has often seemed to me to be a paralysis of the intellect.” 

“ Then why do you assume that the conclusion I have 
come to is the result of thought ? You should be ashamed 
of yourself.” 

Charlton seated himself and felt in his pockets for his 
match box. 


98 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


Cyril Southcote was actually ashamed of himself — for close 
upon a minute and a half ; then he lay back in his chair, 
looked at Charlton, and laughed. 

But while Charlton was having his smoke on the bridge, 
in pursuing the policy of disarming suspicion among the 
passengers. Miss Lancaster was honored with three pro- 
posals of marriage inside the space of an hour and a 
half. 

This is rather over than under the average to which young 
women have to submit in the course of a cbntemplative even- 
ing. But then all young women are not blessed with an 
income of their own amounting to over ten thousand pounds 
a year. If they were, the returns of the Registrar General 
bearing upon spinsterhood would present a healthier appear- 
ance than they do just now. 

The Parliamentary Nuisance — the disguise of the indi- 
vidual under this name is perfect ; for who could identify 
a cat from being told simply that the animal was white ? — 
approached the girl’s seat almost immediately after dinner ; 
and in the course of his conversation remarked that if he 
could induce Miss Lancaster to become his wife, the future 
of the International Gallery of Photography might be 
regarded as certain. Miss Lancaster assured him that, 
though the prospect was fascinating, still circumstances pre- 
cluded the possibility of her assisting the Nuisance in the 
capacity in which he had suggested she might appear by his 
side. 

On hearing his fate he was downcast for some time ; but 
his nature, naturally sanguine, had been rendered still more 
callous to rebuffs through his being called to order by the 
Speaker almost every time that he got up to address the 
House ; and he left Miss Lancaster’s side assuring her that 
he would hope. 

The place which he had vacated was almost immediately 
occupied by the interpreter of “ Alice in Wonderland.” He 


CONCERNING PROPOSITIONS, 


99 


wondered if Miss Lancaster could suggest what was meant 
by the Seven Maids with Seven Mops. That was a point 
which had, he knew, to be faced sooner or later. Now who 
were the What were the 

“ Seven,” said Miss Lancaster thoughtfully. “ Why should 
the number specified be exactly seven ? Why not four, or six, 
or, for that matter, five or eight, unless the author meant to 
suggest something of importance ? Is not the existing sys- 
tem of British parliaments septennial 1 ” she inquired. 

Mr. Crawford started to his feet and took a few steps 
hurriedly up the deck to conceal his emotion. 

He did not return to his seat for some moments ; when 
he did so at last he laid his hand upon hers. 

“ Miss Lancaster,” said he in a voice that was slightly 
tremulous, “ I am middle-aged, a student, and a literary 
man.” 

Bertha looked at him. What could he mean, she won- 
dered, by formulating this progressive list of misfortunes. 

“ I have also a daughter,” he said, as if by way of culmi- 
nating the catalogue. “ But I have been a widower for five 
years,” he added, brightening up ; and if you could see 
your way to join your fate with mine in the enterprise which 
I have at heart, I do not think you would ever regret it.” 

“ Mr. Crawford,” said the girl, “ I am not so certain 
about the septennial parliaments being referred to. There 
are Seven Maids with Seven Mops, you must remember — 
that is, fourteen in all ; that puts a new complexion on the 
matter.” 

“ It does,'' Mr. Crawford admitted after a pause. But, 
regarding the other subject ” 

“ Then, if we find that our first idea was wrong,” said the 
girl, ‘‘ should we not learn to think twice over every matter 
of importance before deciding upon the exact course which 
should be pursued ? ” 

Mr. Crawford was silent for some time. Then he said, 

LofC. 


lOO 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


“ You are right, Miss Lancaster. One should not act pre- 
cipitately in a matter that concerns both of us so nearly. 
If, however, I find that there were fourteen cabinet min- 
isters in the House of Commons when ‘ Alice ’ first appeared, 
I will not shrink from what I believe to be my duty. I will 
go below and make a note of your thoughtful suggestion 
regarding the septennial parliaments.” 

He rose and made for the companion ; but when about 
halfway across the deck he stopped and stroked his chin, 
as if suddenly recollecting something — to be exact, as if he 
recollected having forgotten something. He glanced back 
at Bertha for a moment, and then walked on. 

Before he had disappeared into the companion Charlie 
Barham was sitting in the seat he vacated. 

“ Have you ever seen a fly in amber, Miss Lancaster ? ” 
he inquired. , 

“ Never,” said she. 

‘‘ I have. It’s a rummy sort of thing. You are like 
one.” 

Oh, I say, Charlie, temper your justice with mercy.” 

A fly is, we all know, a beautiful, lively creature.” 

“ It is lively, at any rate — I admit so much.” 

So are you — you are lively, and bright, and beautiful, 
and — and yet you scroodge yourself in among a lot of fos- 
sils — amber is a fossil, I suppose — so that one wonders how 
the — that is, how on earth you got there.” 

“ How on earth ? Ah, I was afraid you were going to 
suggest a supernatural element as accountable for my posi- 
tion. Well, what is the moral of all this about flies in 
amber, and fossils, and me ? ” 

“You were meant for something better. Miss Lancaster.” 

“ Nothing could be better than to point a moral, Charlie.” 

“ Now don’t you begin to laugh at a fellow. I’m serious 
now, and I want you to be serious too. We’ll be in the 
Bay of Biscay early to-morrow.” 


CONCERNING PROPOSITIONS. 


lOI 


“ And you are getting serious already ? ” 

“ I mean that i‘f it’s anything like what it was any time 
that I knew it, we won’t be thinking much about — about — 
what I’m thinking about now.” 

“ And will that be a misfortune or otherwise ? ” 

“ There you go again. I don’t believe you care a scrap 
for a fellow like me.” 

“ There you make a mistake. I do care a great deal for 
you — never having met a fellow like you before may account 
for my infatuation.” 

“ Ah, Bertha, Bertha, this is not love ? ” 

“ No, it certainly is not love.” 

“ And nothing less will satisfy the craving of my heart ; 
let me tell you that. I know that you will offer to be a 
sister to me. I don’t want that. I know too much about 
sisters to want any more.” 

“ Charlie, I’m ashamed of you — indeed I am ; I thought 
better of you than this.” 

“ I expected this ” — and the boy bent his curly head down 
to his hands, his elbow being on his knee. “It is my fate 
to stake the future happiness of my life upon one who 
scorns me — I have done it before now. But I did hope a 
little — never mind, I can bear it, if only you do not bid me 
despair. I am seventeen now — yes, and a half — and I shall 
be a sub-lieutenant in perhaps two years — in five more I 
may be a lieutenant — with good luck. Five and two are 
seven. It sounds a long time — seven years ; but if you 
promise to wait I’ll do the same.” 

“ Charlie,” said Bertha gravely, “you are the nicest boy 
I ever met. If we were among all the passengers in the 
saloon I would kiss you.” 

“ Ah, no, don’t say that ! Surely my case is not so 
hopeless as that.” 

“ It is. I would have no hesitation in kissingyou in the day- 
light in the middle of the saloon — you are such a nice boy.” 


102 


“ / FORBID THE BANNS ! " 


Charlie groaned. 

“ You are only not nice,” she continued, “ when you talk 
nonsense. Now, tell me a good story — don’t spare me. 
ni believe it all.” 

“ I will tell you a good one I have had on my mind for 
the past few days,” he cried. “ But all the same,” he added 
in a subdued voice, “I love you, and I never will love 
anyone else.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

ON THE VOICE THAT BREATHED O’eR EDEN. 

T he Steamer slid into the Bay of Biscay and slid 
through that watery area as though it had been as 
remote from disturbance as an ordinary mill pond. A 
dead calm caused the waters to slumber peacefully ; and 
the speed of the vessel was never less than fifteen knots. 
The playful demons of the bay, whose pranks are usually 
experienced by passengers who may fondly expect to sit at 
the tables without having their plates protected by that 
mahogany framework known as “ fiddles,” seemed to have 
become suddenly melancholic. The tables were not turned 
into switch-back railways in miniature. The vol-au-vefit 
was not sent sliding into any lap. The likeness to a pro- 
jectile of an ancient type, which was suggested by the 
appearance of the plum pudding, was not more deeply 
impressed upon the passengers by the motion of the com- 
estible, however the illusion may have been strengthened 
by partaking of a portion of it. 

The Bay of Biscay, which had been occasionally referred 
to by the passengers with bated breath, was found to be 
nothing particular after all. Those who had been most 
awe-stricken in alluding to it were now quite jocular on 
the subject of its terrors. They alluded to it in familiar, 
not to say flippant, terms. The Bay of Biscay was to them 
what the Lord Chief Justice of England is to the attendant 
in the Turkish bath which his lordship may frequent. 

People who scoff at the Bay of Biscay will scoff at any- 
thing, just as those who sneer at Mesopotamia cannot 
possibly revere any principle. 

103 


104 ‘‘/ FORBID THE BANNS/'* 

Aboard the Carnarvon Castle the laxity induced by the 
smooth surface of the bay, entered into the passengers’ con- 
sideration of the love affair of Mr. Charlton and Miss Lan- 
caster ; for no one who has ever taken a long voyage 
aboard an ocean steamer needs to be told that the most 
elaborate precautions on the part of whatever lovers are 
aboard do not deceive their fellow-passengers. In spite 
of the fact that Charlton smoked an unusual number of 
cigars on the bridge, and showed a dexterity at the game 
of poker which quite upset Captain Waring’s calculations, 
it was soon known among all the ship’s company aft that 
Charlton had asked Miss Lancaster to marry him, and that 
she had consented. 

But this was just what Charlton had not done. He had 
merely told the girl that he Idved her, and asked her if she 
loved him. Though men occasionally marry the women to 
whom they have declared their love, there are instances on 
record of such a declaration having been made without a 
word on the subject of marriage having followed. 

It is, however, generally admitted that such incidents 
are unsatisfactory. ‘ 

Julian Charlton had avoided as long as possible all 
reference to such a commonplace topic as marriage, in the 
course of his converse with Bertha. Every man believes 
that, in the matter of love, his own case is absolutely 
unique ; but his marriage he must admit to be but one in 
some hundreds of millions of precisely the same type, since 
the days of the Voice that breathed o’er Eden. 

“ Dearest,” said he one evening in the Bay of Biscay, 
“ I do not think you ever told me what your arrangements 
were with regard to England.” 

“ I never did,” she replied. “You never told me what 
were yours,” she added, looking at him with eyes overflow- 
ing with pure joyousness. 

“ You never told me what ready money you h^ve, or 


ON THE VOICE THAT BREATHED O'ER EDEN. 105 

what you hope to have in the future ; some of the good 
people aboard seem to know all about it, however. They 
say something about twelve thousand a year.” 

“ That is the exact sum, only that I allow my aunt a 
thousand a year, and pay her traveling expenses, and buy 
her her bonnets. I do not know how to spend more than 
about the same amount myself, though I do my best to be 
extravagant. I hope I shall learn to spend the other eight 
or ten thousand in England.” 

“ It is a fascinating branch of education, Bertha.” 

“You shall teach me, my beloved.” 

“ Nothing could possibly give me greater pleasure. 
But you have actually a larger income than I have : I don’t 
believe that, even in the years when none of the farms are 
thrown on our hands, I have more than about seven thou- 
sand pounds to spend.” 

“ In any case, we should between us be able to keep the 
wolf from the door.” 

“ The wolf ? an entire pack, my dearest.” 

“ Then we need talk no more about money, when there 
are so many beautiful things to be talked about.” 

“ I agree ^ith you. Then let us talk about the sweet- 
est subject that exists, Bertha. When are we to be mar- 
ried ? ” 

“ When ? Ah, Julian, I am ashamed of you ! When ? 
Were we not married in spirit the first hour we met — nay, 
were our souls not wedded from the instant they breathed 
the same air of this world, just as they were in that 
past existence of our souls of which we remember 
nothing ? ” ' 

“ My dearest ! ” and he pressed her hand fondly if 
furtively — “ who can doubt, from the mysterious way we 
met, that we were brought together through the subtle 
influence of a Power which we can only dimly understand ? 
We were made for one another, dearest.’* 


io6 


“/ FORBID THE BA HATS/'’ 


“ Then why should you hurt me by talking about our 
marriage, as if it were something in the future — something 
not yet accomplished ?” 

“Why ” 

Julian Charlton paused, and looked at the tips of his 
fingers for some moments. 

“ What were you going to say ?” she inquired. 

“ I don’t know what I was going to say” he replied ; 
“ only — oh, my darling, do you fancy I have a doubt in my 
mind on the subject of the union of our hearts — of our 
souls ? We are indeed one — one in the sight of that Power 
that brought us together. But I would have you for my 
wife— I would have you by my side always.” 

“ And were you unkind enough to fancy that I was going 
to run away to the uttermost ends of the earth, leaving you 
alone? O Julian, my life is bound up with yours. I can 
never leave you.” 

“ My beloved ! I have nevef heard such sweet words 
spoken on earth. You are right. There is no need for 
us ever to part now. I will get a special license — the 
wedding cannot be too quiet. What do you and I want 
with a crowd of people coming to the church to watch the 
ceremony ? What is all the rest of the world to us, my 
beloved ? ” 

“ Nothing,” she cried decisively — “absolutely nothing ; 
and that is why I say we are already wedded as indissolu- 
bly — nay, far more indissolubly than if the archbishop were 
to give us his benison — sell us his benison, I should father 
say? for I believe your special license is an article of 
commerce.” 

“ That is perfectly true, no doubt,” said Charlton slowly, 
and without any manifestation of enthusiasm. “ Still, 
my beloved — well, we shall have to be content with the 
registrar.” 

“ The registrar ? ” said the girl. “ Why, that is just the 


ON THE VOICE THAT BREATHED O'ER EDEN. 107 

same principle. My dearest it>ve, cannot you see with me 
that, when a man and a woman are bound together by the 
ties of a love such as ours, every form and every cere- 
mony making up what people of the world call a marriage, 
is only a mockery — an insult to love ? ‘ Whom God hath 
joined ’ — it is the arrogance of the priest to assume the 
office of God. Dearest, I am on the side of God as opposed 
to the priest. God has joined us by that strong love which 
is sacred, indissoluble, mystic. It is the priest who, for his 
own profit, has declared that until he has pronounced those 
sacred words there can be no marriage. Just think of the 
mockery of it ; he will pronounce those sacred words 
between any two people — any man and woman who come 
before him bearing a duly sealed document, which has been 
paid for like an ordinary chattel. God joins people by the 
mystic, spiritual bond of love. Does the priest make any 
inquiry with a view to find out if this bond exists between 
any couple who come before him for the purpose of hearing 
him declare that ‘ Whom God hath joined let not man put 
asunder ’ ? ” 

“ I suppose not — that is their lookout,” said Charlton. 

“ Then it is a mockery — that ceremony which they call 
marriage,” said the girl. 

“It has done the world pretty well for some thousands 
of years, Bertha.” 

“ No, it has done the world very badly, Julian. Can any- 
one doubt that much of the misery which exists in every 
civilized community — which actually seems to be the prod- 
uct and attendant of civilization — is caused by marriage 
— legalized compulsory union ? That sort of union is en- 
slavement. It is the union that existed between Bonni- 
vard and his pillar. ‘ Whom God hath joined let not man 
put asunder,’ the policeman says as he slips the handcuffs 
over the wrist of a man and the wrist of a woman who 
stands by his side. Does your idea of the union of souls 


io8 “/ FORBID THE BANNS/'' 

lead you to believe that the hands must be manacled as 
well, otherwise there is no union ? ” 

My dear Bertha, to tell you the honest truth, I have 
never given the subject more than a casual thought. Where 
there is no love I have always felt that marriage is worse 
than mockery.’* 

“ And when God has given his best gift of love to a man 
and a woman he has made them one — this is a marriage that 
is not a mockery ; ^and I do not mean to be one of those 
people who go to the priest or to his civil equivalent to 
have this spiritual bond transformed into a pair of iron 
manacles.” 

“ But, my love, if people who have no spiritual bond 
uniting them choose to make a mockery of marriage, that 
cannot be regarded as a reason why marriage should not be 
accepted in its proper spirit by those who have been joined in 
soul by love — such love as ours, dearest ? ” 

“ Cannot you see, Julian, that you are now confusing the 
true idea of marriage with the idea of the ceremony known 
to the world as marriage? ” 

“ Perhaps I am,” said he thoughtfully. The fact was that 
he had become suddenly thoughtful, not upon the delicate 
distinctions which the girl seemed to be able to draw, but 
upon quite another matter. 

“ Yes,” she continued ; “ I do think that you fail to see 
that for us to go to the church and to ask the priest to join 
us in what is indeed a holy bond, would be equivalent to an 
acknowledgment that God had not joined us in that holy 
bond, the moment we loved one another.” 

My God ! Bertha, do you mean to say that we should 
live together as man and wife without going through any 
ceremony ? ” cried Charlton. 

“ Ceremony ? ” said she after a pause, during which 
her face was suffused with a lovely blush. “Ceremony? 
O Julian, I am ashamed of you ! ” 


ON THE VOICE THAT BREATHED O'ER EDEN. 109 

Forgive me, my dearest," said he ; “but, really, there 
are times when one should speak in the plainest language." 

“ Such times should be always Vv^ith you and me," said 
she. • 

“ But you do not mean Why, think of " 

He really could not bring himself to ask her to think of 
their children. Even the plainest speaking must have its 
limits. 

“ My dearest love," she said, smiling, “ do you really fancy 
that I have come to this conclusion — the gravest that any 
woman could arrive at — without having considered the 
matter from every standpoint ? " 

“ I am sure you have not," he replied gravely. “ But we 
must remember that if we have " 

“ If we have what ? " She looked bravely into his face. 

Now was his time. 

“ If we have — have made up our minds," he said, com- 
mencing boldly, but finishing weakly under the influence of 
her straightforward gaze. “ If we have made up our minds 

to marry we must not forget that Good God ! You 

cannot fancy that it would be practicable for us in England 
to carry out your ideas ?" 

“ Why should it not be practicable } " she asked. “ You 
agreed with me just now that the world, with its ways — with 
its conventionalities — was nothing to us. It is the world 
and the prejudices of society that have led to the accumula- 
tion of error — that have led to the expulsion of everything 
that is spiritual and the cherishing of everything that is 
material. Marriage, according to society, is a social con- 
tract. Some good people call it a sacred, religious contract ; 
others maintain that it is a purely civil matter — all agree, 
however, that it is a social contract ; and all agree in the 
absolute necessity for having the machinery of the divorce 
court in good working order. My beloved, do we not know, 
you and I, that the only indissoluble marriage is that which 


no 


FORBID THE BANNS! 


has brought us together, making us one by that love which 
is God’s best gift and God’s deepest mystery ? ” 

“ Can I doubt it, Bertha ? Only — England ! ” 

“ England is no more to u» than any other part of the 
world. Why, I do believe that you will talk to me of Mrs. 
Grundy next.” 

“ Bertha,” said he gravely, I can understand a pure- 
minded girl, such as you are, hoping to carry out what she 
believes in her heart to be a great plan to make the world 
look at a purely spiritual matter, such as we know love to 
be, from a spiritual standpoint, and not from a merely social 
standpoint. But, believe me, dearest, the world is too gross 
to be regarded as ripe for such an experiment as you sug- 
gest. The men and women of the civilized world require to 
be bound by such a contract as that which we call, for want 
of a better name, marriage. It is found necessary for the 
law of the land to be framed so as to punish the man who 
deserts his wife.” 

“ Deserts the woman with whom he is living,” said the 
girl quickly. If she were really his wife — his wife as you 
and I and Heaven regard wifehood — he would never desert 
her. That love which alone is the mystic bond of true 
union does not come and go. It is eternal. It cannot be 
severed.” 

“ I feel that every day, Bertha,” said he. “ I thank God 
that every day but increases my love for you. But I feel 
that I should be behaving as a scoundrel if I were to take 
advantage of your ” 

“Do not say ‘impulses,* Julian — say ‘principles.’ I 
have held these principles for some time — since I was sev- 
enteen, I think — three years ago. I have never had a hope 
of being able to realize my dream in this matter. I never 
felt the least suggestion of love fof any man until I met 
you, and then I knew that the hour had come — I knew that 
I must love you, dearest.” 


ON THE VOICE THA T BREA THED O'ER EDEN. 1 1 1 


“ And it is because I love you with all my soul, Bertha, 
I cannot do you the terrible injustice of — oh, it is out of the 
question.” 

He got upon his feet and walked quickly up the deck. 
She followed him with her eyes. 

Then she sighed. 


CHAPTER XVII. 




ON THE TEMPTATION OF FAUST. 

I T was a curious position for a man to find himself 
in. 

Had it been the other way there are the strongest reasons 
for believing that it would not have been without precedent. 

He was a moral man, as well as an Englishman, and he 
was thus led to regard with extreme aversion the idea of 
being the pioneer of a new cult — if the girl’s theories could 
be called a cult. 

He could not see that there was any more excellent way 
of living with a woman than by being bound to her by a 
legal marriage performed by a licensed clergyman of the 
Established Church, wearing a surplice, and holding open 
an awkward oblong book of common prayer, from which, 
with chilling indifference, he reads certain phrases of no 
particular delicacy. 

All this, he knew, was disagreeable — almost ridiculous ; 
but it was essential to the comfort of matrimony and to the 
legitimacy of offspring. It must be faced, just as the 
dentist must be faced. This is precisely what he had 
always felt on the subject of marrying and giving in 
marriage. 

But here was this girl, whom, with all his soul, he hoped 
to marry, endeavoring to show him a more excellent way 
of attaining to the happiness of marriage than by submit- 
ting to any ceremony. 

He reflected, as he looked far away across the smooth 
waters, over which that prodigal millionaire the sun was 
flinging his gold, that, if he had come to the girl speaking 


;i2 


ON THE TEMPTATION OF FAC/ST. 


113 


to her the words that she had spoken to him, he would be 
regarded as one of the greatest scoundrels in existence. 

And yet he knew that the girl was the sweetest and most 
pure-niinded that had ever worn the grace of girlhood. 
Every word that she had said was true — that was the worst 
of the matter. When people love each other truly they 
are bound together by the real bond of marriage. The 
appearance of a man and a woman before a priest or a 
registrar does not make the rite sacred. It is merely a 
form, this ceremony of marriage ; but, unfortunately, the 
people of every civilized country have come to regard it as 
the seal of respectability. 

Lovers, let them love never so well, could not, he was 
well aware, create a home unless they had gone through 
the ceremony of marriage. But a man and woman, even 
though they detested one another as heartily as husband 
and wife ever did, were regarded as respectable, and, con- 
sequently, commendable, provided they had been pro- 
nounced man and wife by the priest or the registrar, even 
though the priest’s intellectual and spiritual services were 
appraised at so humble a figure as ^120 per annum, and 
even though the registrar’s intellectual labors were thought 
to be fully remunerated by the trifling ad cap. payment of 
half a crown. 

What he had said to Bertha was perfectly true : he had 
never given the marriage question any particular thought. 
It had certainly never occurred to him to consider it from 
the elevated standpoint of spirituality. It was all very well 
to talk about the union of souls being the true foundation 
of marriage ; and it was doubtless a fact that the union 
between himself and Bertha could not be made more com- 
plete if the marriage service were read before them in due 
form by the archbishops of Canterbury and York, with the 
Episcopal Bench forming a cordon round the altar while 
the ceremony was being performed. But then all couples 


114 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


who presented themselves before the priests or the regis- 
trars were not like Bertha and himself : they had not that 
spiritual affinity which made Bertha and himself absolutely 
one in soul. And the laws which governed society were, 
very reasonably, framed to suit the requirements of the 
average man and woman, not the requirements of the 
exceptionally spiritual. Consequently society would not be 
disposed to tolerate such a breach of Che social code as 
was suggested by Bertha. It would be impossible to 
explain to everyone that, in their particular case, the church 
ceremony was wholly unnecessary, the fact being that they 
had become one in soul the instant they had first met. 
This he perceived with absolute clearness. He had even a 
curious suspicion that if he were to attempt to make such 
an explanation to the most intimate of his friends, he 
would get laughed at. He questioned very much if such 
an explanation would be unreservedly accepted by the 
Archbishop of Canterbury himself, who, being probably a 
very spiritually minded human being, should certainly be 
able to appreciate subtle points with something of mysticism 
about them. Why, even the Archbishop of Canterbury 
himself had thought it wise to go through the ceremony of 
marriage, though probably one of the most spiritual of 
human beings. It is this fact which compels the world to 
believe that the Archbishop of Canterbury is a human 
being. If it were not for this people might regard him as 
something altogether spiritual — say, a cardinal. 

Into the question of the vows taken before the altar by a 
man and a woman standing side by side, Mr. Charlton did 
not enter in the course of his communnings with himself. 
He knew it would be absurd to do so. He knew that 
neither the law of the land nor the law of the Church 
regarded the taking of these vows as involving any sacred 
obligation either upon the man or the woman. If a man 
or a woman committed perjury in a court of law a criminal 


ON THE TEMPTATION OF FAUST. 115 

prosecution followed, and a sentence of imprisonment; but 
if a woman disobeyed her husband, or failed to honor him, 
she was visited by no penal consequences. Of course if 
she went too far in one direction the husband might have 
his remedy ; but the woman was not prosecuted by the law 
of the land for having perjured herself. As for the man, he 
broke his vows every day without incurring any penalty. 
Clearly, then, the ceremony of marriage, involving the 
taking of these vows, was regarded as a good deal less 
sacred than the ceremony involving the taking of an oath 
in a court of law. 

Charlton dismissed the vow-taking aspect of the cere- 
mony of marriage as unworthy of serious consideration. 
Indeed, the result of his contemplation of the whole ques- 
tion suggested by Bertha was a conviction that she was 
perfectly right in point of principle. If society could only 
be brought to perceive that there were exceptional cases — 
his case and Bertha’s was an exceptional one — in which the 
ceremony of marriage was wholly unnecessary, all would 
be well. But he could not hold out to her any hope that 
society would be disposed to regard their particular case as 
exceptional. Of course society was astray in this matter 
as it was in many other matters ; but this fact did not alter 
the aspect of the question so far as he and Bertha were 
concerned. If they meant to live among decent people 
they must conform to the mode of life and the prejudices 
of decent people ; and among their prejudices marriage, as 
a ceremony to be gone through before a man and woman 
could set up a home, occupied a prominent place. To be 
sure, some people declined to conform to the prejudices of 
decent society — the teetotalers, for instance ; then there 
were the vegetarians and the antivaccinationists and the 
lady who kept a hundred cats in her house. Such people 
were not popular. 

Were he and Bertha, he asked himself, prepared to sink 


“7 FORBID THE B4NNS! 


1 16 

to the level of vegetarians ? Were he and Bertha ready to 
take their stand by the side of the lady and her hundred 
cats ? 

Then there was the question of children. Were he and 
Bertha 

He turned away from the sunset and walked straight to 
her side. 

‘‘ Bertha,” said he in a low voice, but without a falter — 

Bertha, I cannot do it. I cannot do it, because I love 
you too well.” 

Oh, my beloved,” she replied, I know that the 
measure of your love for me is as the measure of my love 
for you, therefore I know that we shall not be separated. 
It is not in your power to leave me now. You and I are 
powerless to struggle against love — the love that has 
made us one. You know that we have been made one. 
You are not the man to fight to the death against love.” 

“ I will not do you this wrong, Bertha,” said he. I will 
not do you this wrong.” 

She shook her head and smiled. 

“ I forbid the banns,” she whispered. 

He walked up the deck without another word. 

It was a curious position for him to be in. 

Here was Gretchen tempting Faust, and Faust bringing 
to his aid to resist her all the moral principles which had 
been inculcated by the schools, and a good many more 
besides. 

Would his intimate acquaintance with the moral princi- 
ples of the schoolmen avail to render her simplicity impo- 
tent ? Would that fascinating simplicity of this Gretchen 
prevail against the strong morality of this Faust ? 

It is a terrible spectacle — the struggling of that innocent 
dove, Gretchen, against the fatal fascination of that seduc- 
tive Faust ; but how much more terrible is not the spectacle 
of the artless Gretchen endeavoring to lure Faust on to 


ON THE TEMPTATION OF FAUST. 

what the world has, for a considerable number of years, 
termed immorality ! 

“ I will not be led away. I am firm in my morality,” said 
this Faust to himself as he walked up the deck. “ Yes, I 
have principles, I will never yield.” 

He turned and looked back at her. What an exquisite 
face she had ! What exquisite feet she had ! 

Alas, for the moral Faust ! 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


ON THE THAMES. 

J ULIAN CHARLTON certainly meant to adhere to the 
resolution which he had formed in regard to Bertha 
and her principles. He felt that his resolution was a right 
one, even though he was ready also to acknowledge that 
her principles were founded upon the truth. She regarded 
from such an exalted standpoint that spiritual passion — if 
he might venture to call it a passion — known as love, she 
could not bring herself to consent to subject it to the indig- 
nity implied by the ceremony of marriage — the “ manacles 
of the Church,” as she called it. It would be an affront to 
this love, which was a union of souls, to make it the subject 
of vows spoken in the presence of witnesses. Were she to 
do so she would be consenting to regard it from a material 
standpoint, divested of all its spirituality. It would be an 
insult to a man who had made certain statements, to insist 
on his taking an oath to their accuracy. It would be an 
insult to a man who had lived a life of temperance to insist 
on his “ signing the pledge.” It would be an insult to her- 
self, loving Julian as she did, to insist on her taking a vow 
before a number of witnesses to continue loving him. She 
did not care what the world would say. The world was 
usually wrong. The world had killed all its noblest teach- 
ers, but their truths had survived and truth would prevail in 
the end, if only people were not afraid of the opinion of the 
world. She believed that there were thousands of men and 
women who thought with her on this subject. They only 
needed to be given an example and they would all follow it. 
She meant to be an example to them. She meant to be the 


ON THE THAMES. 119 

pioneer of this faith — not a new faith, but the oldest that 
existed on earth. 

This was the sum of her belief, and her belief was, he 
knew, that of a pure soul, full of aspirations after the 
highest form of life, and ready to face martyrdom, if nec- 
essary, for her faith. He also knew that it was the faith 
of a soul that knew more about heaven than it did about 
the world. Such were the souls of the martyrs from Abel 
down to Gordon. They knew too much about the inhab- 
itants of heaven and not enough about the inhabitants of 
the nether world. Abel had had his experiences of Para- 
dise ; but he was not a man of the world. He had not 
had a wide experience of men — circumstances were against 
him. Cain had no better chance than he, but he proved 
that he knew less of the ways of heaven than he did of 
the ways of getting the upper hand of his fellow-man. 
Gordon had his faith — chiefly in himself — but his knowl- 
edge of the exigencies of contemporary English politics 
was extremely limited. 

Bertha Lancaster’s soul had upon it, Julian felt, no 
stain of earth. She had a fervent belief in the spiritual 
nature of love, and she was only acting in sympathy 
with this belief when she refused to go through the cere- 
mony of marriage with him. 

Several times before the English Channel was reached he 
inquired of her if she meant that they should part. She 
smiled and shook her head as she had done before, saying : 

“ It is too late now. You know that it is not in the 
power of anything on earth to part us. Even if we should 
never see one another again we shall not be parted.” 

“ I will not do you this terrible wrong, Bertha,” said he 
more than once. “ I am not a scoundrel.” 

“ I know what is in your heart,” she replied. “It is the 
same as that which is in my heart. You are a good man. 
You are my love.” 


120 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


They continued sitting together and talking until the 
English Channel was reached, and with a blue April sky 
overhead and a gray, murky water parting before the bows 
of the Carnarvon Castle^ the estuary of the Thames was 
reached. 

He stood by her side, pointing out to her the various 
places of interest of which she had heard. , She had heard 
of all except the Isle of Dogs. She had never heard 
even the name of this glory of the Thames. 

Before the docks had been reached the passengers who 
had worshiped her had spoken their farewell words in 
her ear. They were very sad words — especially those 
spoken by Charlie Barham. 

If you are ever in need of a friend. Miss Lancaster,” 
said he, “ you may count upon me. I am yours till death. 
It is an infernally bad world this — I have had a pretty fair 
experience of it now — it’s bad — it’s hollow. True friends 
are not found every day. If you need a friend just tele- 
graph to me. Even if we are stationed at Zanzibar I will 
come to you. You may trust me.” 

Indeed I will,” she said. “ I should dearly like to kiss 
you, only I know you would not let me.” 

“ No,” he said mournfully. “ I do not want to be made 
to feel that we are so very far apart. I never knew how 
great was the barrier between us until you offered to kiss 
me. Good-by. I hope you will never find out by bitter 
experience how hollow the world is. I have found it out. 
My heart has been the lead and my heart strings the lead 
line which I have heaved into the great abyss of the hollow 
world. I have sounded its hollowness to its full depth. 
Good-by. God bless you ! ” 

Then the Parliamentary Nuisance came to her with an 
offer of an order to the ladies’ gallery for any night she 
might desire to hear him speak. 

** You are safe to drop in any time on chance,” said he ; 


ON THE THAMES. 


I2I 


“ I generally speak every night. During supply I usually 
speak about six times every sitting. When I am at my best 
I have averaged as high as nine times. On exceptional 
occasions I have been called to order as often as eight 
times in the course of an evening,” he added with some 
pride. “ I am particularly fond of India and the Crofters. 
I do a little also on the Advance of Russia, the German 
Annexations in the South Seas, insults to the British flag in 
Central Africa, and the boy who was sentenced to four 
months’ imprisonment for stealing a turnip — ‘ Justices’ Jus- 
tice,’ and so forth. Pray drop in some evening. If you 
come before I am called to order you will hear me speak. 
To a colonial our House of Representatives cannot be other- 
wise than imposing.” 

“ Imposing,” said Cyril Southcote, who had just come up. 
“ Imposing — not merely imposing — the embodiment of 
imposition.” 

“ Touching the March Hare^' said Mr. Crawford, who 
also had come up to make his adieux ; “ could you suggest 
before we part, Miss Lancaster, whether this reference has 
an individual or a general bearing ? ” 

Miss Lancaster looked at the interpreter of “Alice in 
Wonderland ” attentively for some moments. She felt that 
if hard pressed she could identify the ante-type of the 
March Hare. 

“ It is a delicate question, Mr. Crawford,” said she. 

“ Yes,” said he, “ it is a very delicate point. And yet it 
appears to me simple enough when you approach it in a 
proper spirit of inquiry. I believe the March Hare to refer 
to the Democracy.” 

“ Perhaps so,” said the girl. 

“ My dear Miss Lancaster, my conclusion is simplicity 
itself. The March Hare as a type of madness has its 
equivalent in the Hatter. Now, the vernacular of a hat is 
a tile, and the Hatter is consequently the tiler. Now, you 


122 


FORBID THE BANNS! 


may remember that the originator of the democratic spirit 
was Wat Tyler, hence it is perfectly plain that the March 
Hare refers to the Democracy.” 

“ I congratulate you, Mr. Crawford,” said she. “ I shall 
never forget your ingenious interpretations. The March 
Hare is indeed the best type of the spirit in which you 
have approached your work.” 

Mr. Crawford smiled, holding out his hand to her in a 
gracious way. 

“ I feel that you are flattering me,” said he. “ And yet 
my instinct — the trained instinct of the modern literary 
investigator — tells me that you are doing me no more than 
what is just. Yes, the March Hare may be accepted as a 
very good example of the system which we pursue — we, 
the modern literary investigators. My volumes will possi- 
bly be finished in the course of eighteen months — certainly, 
inside five years. I shall take care that you receive the 
earliest copies.” 

In due time all the passengers — they were mostly men — 
who had been among her friends, took leave of her. And 
then Marian Travers approached her with smiles. 

“It has been such a pleasure to me to meet you,” said 
Miss Travers. “But alas! these friendships of mid- 
ocean have more pain about them than pleasure. Even 
the most intimate end with the sight of the shore. 

Even such a friendship as I don’t see Mr. Charlton 

anywhere.” 

“ Neither do I,” said Bertha. 

“ But surely,” said Marian, with eyebrows and hands 
uplifted, and a smile full of meaning playing about the 
corners of her lips — “ surely ” 

“ Oh, there he is,” cried Bertha as Charlton appeared in 
the civilized attire of London, having put off the irrespon- 
sible garments of the Atlantic. “ Mr. Charlton, Miss 
Travers says surely ” 


ON THE THAMES. 


123 

Indeed,” said Charlton. “ You are quite right, Miss 
Travers, as usual.” 

“ I guessed as much,” said Miss Travers. “ Then I may 
congratulate you both.” 

“ You may not congratulate me,” said Charlton. “ I am 
the most miserable man in the world.” 

“You may congratulate me,” said Bertha. “I am the 
happiest girl on the River Thames — I suppose we are still on 
the Thames.” 

“ I cannot quite understand,” remarked Miss Travers. 
“ One supremely miserable, the other supremely happy. 
What is to be the end of this strange condition of 
things ? ” 

“ God knows,” said Charlton. 

“ Yes, God knows,” said Bertha solemnly. 

“ I am mystified,” said Marian. “ Do you mean to say ” 

She looked first at Bertha, then at Charlton, with notes of 
interrogation at the corners of her eyes and her mouth. 

“ I mean to say nothing,” said Charlton. 

“ And I mean to wait,” said Bertha. 

“ I hate a mystery,” said Marian. 

“ Then you hate a woman’s heart,” said Charlton. 

“ And a man’s soul,” said Bertha. 

“ I see that you are determined that I shall know noth- 
ing,” cried Marian. “ Never mind ; I am not of a curious 
disposition. Good-by. I suppose we need not hope to 
have a gallop together in the Row, such as we used to 
have every day on the Flats,” she added, turning to 
Charlton. 

“ I fear that we shall not,” he replied. “ I will only be in 
England for a week. I am going to South America. 
I believe there are a good many spots in the neighborhood 
of Tierra del Fuego that have never been explored.” 

Marian Travers gave an earnest look into his face — a look 
full of inquiry, full of promise, and not without hope. 


124 


*‘/ FORBID THE BANNS' 


When a gamester has only a minute and a half to make 
his game out of a difficult hand he is apt to become a little 
reckless, not to say desperate. 

Charlton made no response. 

She had lost. 

Good-by," said she. 

“ Good-by," said hgo 


CHAPTER XIX. 


ON THE POWER OF A NEW SENSATION. 

1 ALWAYS regret landing,” said Mrs. Hardy. “ One 
good thing about a ship is that there are no stairs to 
trouble one — only nine down to the cabin, and there you 
are. The shore means stairs, and stairs are a great trial, as 
perhaps I mentioned before. I am sorry to land, though 
I am afraid I indulged too largely in flesh-forming foods at 
dinner. Albumen is a great snare.” 

“ Are we to part ? ” asked Charlton as he stood by the 
side of Bertha, while the steamer was being warped into 
dock. 

“ It rests with you to decide,” said she. “ Why should 
we part ? ” 

“ There is only one reason,” he replied. ** I have not 
changed my resolution.” 

“ And it is impossible for me to change mine.” 

“ Then we must part. My wanderings are not yet over. 
I shall leave for South America next week.” 

‘‘And I. meant that you should be so happy — that the 
world should be made happy through us.” 

“ That is the dream of a pure soul inhabiting a different 
world from ours. Thank God, I am strong enough to say 
good-by before it is too late.” 

“ The world is too much with you, Julian.” 

“ I have lived in it a good many years — too many to 
allow of my having any doubt as to the course I mean to 
adopt. Thank God, I am strong enough to do what I know 
to be right in this matter.” 

“You are a good man,” she said after a little pause — a 


125 


126 


/ FORBID THE BANNS ! " 


pause during which he kept his eyes fixed upon her face, 
trying to see upon her features the evidence of a struggle 
going on in her heart. Her features gave no sign of any 
struggle. Her heart was steadfast to her resolution. “You 
are a good man, and you were meant to stand by my side 
in carrying out this great work upon which I have set my 
heart.” 

“ I cannot do it,” said he. “ That is my last word.” 

They still remained side by side while the steamer was 
being hauled into her berth. 

“ Look there ! ” cried Mrs. Hardy, hurrying to where 
they were standing. “ Look there ! ” and she pointed to the 
breastwork of the dock, where a tall, middle-aged gentleman 
with a solemn cast of countenance was standing with a 
much younger man, of a much more agreeable type, by his 
side. 

“ Why,” cried the girl, “ it’s Uncle Matthew and Eric Vic- 
ars. Now how on earth did Eric Vicars reach England ? 
He was the last person whom we saw at Sydney.” 

Charlton saw a roseate tinge come over her face the 
moment her aunt had called her attention to the two per- 
sons who were now hastening — the younger man with a good 
deal more eagerness than the elder — to the gangway that 
was being swung out to the steamer. Bertha seemed to 
have forgotten that Charlton was by her side. She was 
watching the approach of the foremost of the men who 
had boarded the ship, and there was a certain amount of 
eagerness in her eyes. 

This man, to whom she was giving all her attention, 
almost ran to her at last with both his hands stretched 
out to her. Charlton saw that he was handsome, with an 
expression of frankness on his face that was almost cer- 
tain to produce a good impression upon a stranger. 
Curiously enough it did not produce a good impression 
upon Charlton. 


ON THE POWER OF A NEW SENSATION. 127 

“ Bertha, Bertha ! cried the stranger, catching both her 
hands in his and holding them without showing the least 
sign of letting them drop. After seven months here we 
are together again. When you left us it was springtime 
in Australia, and now you bring the spring to us here in 
England.’* 

As the man spoke Charlton was conscious of a sensation 
that was altogether new to him. A singular passion 
throbbed through his veins and caused him to tremble. 
He felt an extraordinary interest in the man, and yet he 
felt that he had never hated a man until now. The sensa- 
tion was new to him. He had never experienced the pas- 
sion of jealousy, for the simple reason that he had never 
been in love before. 

Then the elder man came up and put out a long, lean 
hand to Mrs. Hardy. 

“ Hannah,” said he, “ welcome back to your home. 
Niece Bertha, you are welcome. You have grown. Has 
it been in grace, eh ? ” 

“ Have you no eyes, Matthew ? ” said Mrs. Hardy ; and 
from the tone which she assumed, Charlton knew in a 
moment that she was speaking to her husband. “ Can’t 
you see that she is grace itself ? ” 

‘‘ Outwardly, yes,” said Mr. Hardy ; but the inward 
and spiritual — is it there, is it there ? ” 

“How are the carnisolists. Uncle Matthew?” said 
Bertha, her eyes overflowing with laughter. 

“ Oh, let the carnisolists, or whatever they call them- 
^selves, rest a while,” said the young man. “ Let them rest 
until I have had a good chat with Bertha. Come along, 
Bertha,” he cried in that honest, frank voice of his, putting 
his hand inside Bertha’s arm in the most confidential way 
imaginable. “ Come along, and tell me all about your 
voyages. So you went to Calcutta ? ” 

Bertha took only one step up the deck. She saw the 


128 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


expression that was upon Charlton’s face. It frightened 
her. 

“ There is plenty of time for us to have our chat,” said 
she to her frank friend, Mr. Vicars. “ I must first present 
you to Mr. Charlton. This is my old friend, Mr. Eric 
Vicars, Mr. Charlton.” 

Only for one second did an expression of suspicion pass 
over the open countenance of Mr. Vicars as he looked at 
Charlton. Then his hand went out with a flash in front of 
him, and as he grasped Charlton’s eagerly and wrung it as 
if it had been the bough of an apple tree from which he 
was anxious to shake the fruit, his old straightforward look 
came back, and his eyes shone with warmth as he cried : 

“ Any friend of Bertha’s is a friend of mine, sir ; that I 
can say with my hand on my heart.” 

“ You are very good to say so,” said Charlton, opening 
out his fingers, which had been disagreeably compressed by 
the enthusiastic pressure of Mr. Vicars. 

“ And this is my uncle Matthew, Mr. Charlton,” said 
Bertha. “You have heard my aunt speak of her husband, 
I am sure.” 

Charlton was sure that he never had. He had formed 
the impression that Mrs. Hardy was a widow. He, how- 
ever, shook hands with Mr. Hardy. 

“ Not a colonial ? I thought not, sir,” said Mr. Hardy. 
“ I thought I could detect the absence of the Australian 
pronunciation in your speech. We are a bit behind the 
colonials in pronunciation, sir. Even in the best circles 
at home we can only make the word ‘ no ’ a monosyllable. 
The advanced Australians make two syllables out of it 
quite easily. In some directions I have heard them make 
a try for three, but with only indifferent success. Advance 
Australia ! They’ll do it, if you give them time.” 

While Julian Charlton was standing in front of Mr. 
Hardy he was quite aware of the fact that Mr. Vicars was 


ON THE POWER OF A NEW SENSATION. 129 

holding Bertha’s hand in one of his own and patting it 
with the other, at the same time moving quietly up the 
deck, making a little fuss now and again, as if particularly 
anxious to get out of the way of the other passengers, who 
were greeting their friends from the shore ; and once again 
that novel sensation returned to him. 

If anyone had told him that it was jealousy he would 
have laughed. He simply felt that if a sailor were to drop 
a sharp-pointed marline spike — as sailors sometimes do — 
from the greatest altitude possible to be attained on the 
mainmast of the steamer, and if that marline spike were to 
penetrate the skull of Mr. Vicars, he would not be annoyed. 

This feeling could hardly be interpreted into one of 
regard for Mr. Vicars ; but, at the same time, if Charlton 
had been told that it was the product of jealousy, he would 
have laughed. 

He was not laughing now. Mr. Vicars was — in that 
bluff, hearty, good-natured, frank, colonial style that seems 
the natural vocal expression of a stalwart, brown-faced, 
brown-bearded man with soft blue eyes and the heart of a 
little child. 

Eric Vicars had this sort of laugh. 

He had also the brown face, the stalwart frame, and the 
soft blue eyes. 

He had probably also the heart of a little child. 

Charlton would have liked to cut it out to make sure. 

Mr. Vicars was still edging away, laughing in joyous 
thunderclaps, and giving proprietary pats to the girl’s 
hand, when Bertha’s eyes caught Charlton’s. 

She was by his side in a moment. Was it possible that 
she understood what that expression upon his face meant, 
though he himself did not know what was the passion that 
produced it ? 

“O Eric, do help Miriam with that Saratoga,” cried 
Mrs. Hardy, addressing Mr. Vicars, and pointing to where 


130 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!" 


Miriam was struggling with a large trunk that had just 
been hoisted from the hold. 

Mr. Vicars was standing where he had been left by 
Bertha. He had his eyes fixed upon Bertha and Charlton 
with a curious expression in them for the eyes of a strong 
man with the heart of a little child to wear. Mrs. Hardy 
had to speak a second time before he see.med to be aware 
that she was addressing him. 

“ A trunk — where? Oh, I see. Certainly. I’m your 
man,” he cried out in his heartiest and bluffest style ; and 
he swung himself in his good-natured exuberance from the 
poop deck by a stay, his legs sprawling in that jovial boyish 
way of his among the heads of the people beneath. 

Strong men with the simple hearts of little children can 
do such things without exciting remark. 

Bertha,” said Charlton quickly, “ I was wrong ; you 
were right. If you can trust me, come to me. You are 
my wife in the sight of Heaven. We can afford to laugh at 
the world. I cannot live without you. It is laid on me to 
protect you forever — to hold you away from any danger 
that the world knows ; I see it now.” 

His face was very pale and his hands were trembling. 

Her face was flushed, but her voice was not tremulous as 
she said : 

“ I knew you would come to see with my eyes, dearest. 
I knew that your heart would not be afraid to speak what 
it knows to be the truth.” 

“ Who is that man ? ” asked Charlton almost before she 
had done speaking. He indicated Vicars, who was behav- 
ing to the passengers, whose heavy luggage was being 
hoisted on deck, with that good-humored rudeness which 
comes so naturally to honest big fellows with the hearts of 
little children. 

“ Eric Vicars,” said she. “ Oh, I thought I had told 
you all about him.” 


ON THE POWER OF A NEW SENSATION 131 

“You never mentioned his name,” said Charlton. 
“ Who is he ? ” 

“ He is my oldest Australian friend,” she replied. “ He 
was overseer on one of my father’s runs — a most useful 
man. He left suddenly three years ago, and then turned 
up at our house at Port Jackson. My father did something 
for him at that time, and promised to do more. He died 
before he could keep his word. Eric saw us off when we 
started for India seven months ago, and he has just told 
me that he came to England and hunted up Uncle Mat- 
thew — he has just been a week here. A mine that he had 
sunk his savings in has just turned out well. That is how 
he comes to have the money. He used never to have 
money. He has a large heart.” 

“ How about the savings that he sunk in the gold mine ?” 
asked Charlton. 

“ I suppose he must have managed to save some money 
that we knew nothing about,” said she. 

“ No doubt,” remarked Charlton. “ Is he living with 
your uncle just now?” 

“ Yes ; he could not bear to leave him after he arrived,” 
said Bertha. “ Poor fellow ! he did not know by what 
steamer we were coming, and he has been down at the docks 
every day, boarding every steamer that arrived from the 
Cape. He came on the same chance to the Carnarvon 
Castle to-day. How delighted he was to see us ! Eric has 
a large heart, whatever his faults may be.” 

“ It is a peculiarity in the anatomy of such persons,” said 
Charlton. “And you are now going to your uncle’s 
house ? ” 

“ Yes ; it is in Chelsea,” said the girl. “ I suppose that my 
aunt will drive from here ; but I should much rather walk 
there with you, Julian. I suppose it cannot be so very far.” 

“ It is not so very far,” said Charlton ; “ only a trifle of 
nine or ten miles.” 


132 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


“ Then the docks are not at London ? ” 

They are not exactly in the heart of London. I will 
ask you to let me have the address in Chelsea, so that I can 
come for you when you are ready to be my very own.” 

But you will come with us now ? ” 

I cannot, dearest ; I am not a colonial overseer with 
a large heart. But I will go and see you to-morrow between 
the hours of six and seven. I must hasten to my neglected 
home just now, and see that it is fit for the reception 
of a mistress.” 

He gave a little start and a gulp as he uttered the last 
word. 

A Mistress ! 

That was the word which escaped from him. 

He could not recall it. That is the worst about words. 
When they are spoken they displace a certain quantity of air, 
just as a pebble dropped into a still pond displaces a quantity 
of water. The circle of ripples broadens out from the center 
of the pool until it reaches the bank ; and the ripples of air, 
caused by the speaking of a word, broaden out until the 
effect of that word is felt outside the limits of our world. 

A Mistress! 


CHAPTER XX. 

ON AN OAK SETTEE. 

J ULIAN CHARLTON sat alone on the evening of the 
day of his arrival in England in the dining room of 
Lrackenhurst Court, the place which he had inherited from 
his father, and which his father had inherited from Julian’s 
grandfather. How many times “ great ” should be prefixed 
to the original grandfather who had built Brackenhurst 
Court in the days of the first Duke of Marlborough, he 
could hardly tell — he did not care to think. Sir God- 
frey had painted the portrait of the original Charlton — 
a major of dragoons. His descendants had been beau- 
tified in turn by Sir Peter, Gainsborough, Sir Joshua, Sir 
Thomas, and so on down to Sir Francis, P. R. A., who had 
still a little time left over from hunting to bestow upon 
the art of portraiture, as it was understood twenty-five 
years ago. 

The portraits were judiciously distributed through the 
great rooms of the Court. Behind Julian himself in the 
dining room were two Romneys — his great-grandfather and 
his great-grandmother — and in front of him were the two 
Grants — his father and his mother. 

He had dined early, and as May was within a few days 
of arriving, it was light enough at half-past seven for him 
to be able to distinguish the features of the two portraits 
that hung on either side of the fireplace, in the grate of 
which a couple of logs flickered. 

“ When I got your telegram. Master Julian,” the aged 
butler had explained, “ I said to Mrs. Barwell, ‘ We’ll have 
a fire lit on chance in the dining room,’ says I, for he’ll 


133 


134 


** / FORBID THE BA NATS / ” 


have been in many a warm quarter since he left us, and 
we’ll not have him sit a-shivering.’ ” 

The light from the logs and the soft English twilight 
mingled in the room. He saw his father and his mother 
smiling on him as they had done years before. The pic- 
tures had a new interest in his eyes. His father and mother 
had met at the place where he had seen Bertha for the first 
time. 

He had originally been impressed with his meeting Ber- 
tha because he knew that their meeting had taken place 
where his father had first met his mother. But now he was 
gazing at their portraits with renewed interest because they 
had met where he had first seen Bertha. 

He kept his eyes fixed on them until nothing was left of 
the twilight but a blue patch in an opening in the lower 
boughs of a great elm on the furthest brink of the lawn. 
The red flickering fire light now and again touched the 
canvases, and then went flying around the polished surface 
of the black oak panels, brought by the major of dragoons 
from the Low Countries. 

With the darkness there came to him an overwhelming 
loneliness — such a loneliness as he had never felt in all his 
life before. 

She was away from him. 

She had become a part of his life — the better part of his 
life. It seemed to him that there had never been a time in 
his life when he had not known her. Every hour during 
the past seventeen days — only seventeen days ! — she had 
been in his thoughts. 

And she was his own ! She would soon always be with 
him — always by his side — always within reach of his lips ! 

The thought sent the blood coursing strongly through his 
veins ; but the thought gave him no pleasure, for it came 
to him wedded with another thought : 

** What would the originals of those two paintings say if 


ON AN OAK SETTEE. 


135 


they were alive and had become aware of my resolution to 
place in the same oak chair that appeared in my mother’s 
picture, a woman who would be ” 

“ They could not understand,” he said out aloud, as he 
rose from his chair with an impatient movement. They 
could not understand. I do not suppose that many people 
will understand. What is it to us whether they do or not ? 
We can live for each other, not for English society.” 

He opened one of the windows and stepped out upon the 
terrace. There had been no time for any of the garden 
seats to be put back to their places — he had only tele- 
graphed from London Docks at midday to have dinner 
ready for him — so he seated himself upon one of the stone 
steps leading down to the second terrace. There he lit his 
cigar. 

The blackbirds were singing in their rich altos and bari- 
tones to one another away in the clipped laurels of the 
shrubberies. A cuckoo — the first he had heard for over 
two years — was heard in the distance, and over the park of 
elms the rooks were cawing, but very fitfully, for the blue 
of the twilight was darkening every moment. In the dis- 
tance of dim woodlands there was a hint of the rising moon, 
now at its full. Behind him the lamp that the butler was 
carrying to the dining room glimmered from pane to pane. 
The flitter of a bat, the flutter of a moth, the flicker of a 
swallow — he was aware of each in turn. All were a joy to 
him because he knew they would be a joy to her, when she 
would come here to be his 

He got to his feet once more and walked quickly down 
the last steps and on to the brink of the broad fish pond on 
which the water lilies were floating. Here and there the 
splash of one of the fat carp which he knew so well 
sounded. Here at last was rest. 

He seated himself on the concrete border of the pond 
and allowed his thoughts to carry him away. Over the 


136 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


boughs of the distant trees a silver band of moonlight 
stretched. It swept across the grassy slopes and lay upon 
the still water beside him. In the mystery of moonlight 
the figure of a boy with bright hair ran out from the shrub- 
bery and stood facing him across the fish pond. He started 
at the sight of that figure. He knew it well. He knew that 
he was looking at the ghost of his dead boyhood. 

Then as he remained sitting there the silence of the night 
was broken by the sound of the church bell. At nine 
o’clock every night, in all seasons, it was the custom to ring 
the church bell. Even the oldest inhabitant, who could by 
judicious coaxing be brought to recollect occurrences as 
recent as Monmouth’s rebellion, the execution of Charles 
the First, and, after a little persuasion, the stir caused by 
the appearance of the Spanish Armada, and all the talk 
there was when the news reached England that Lord Nel- 
son had been killed at that time — even this interesting per- 
sonage — who could read the Bible, only he didn’t, without 
the aid of spectacles, resolutely declined to say positively 
in which reign this custom of bell-ringing at nine o’clock 
had originated. 

But the sound of the bell brought back to Julian Charlton 
many memories. It brought back to him the memory of 
the two saddest days in his life. When the bell had tolled 
for the death of his mother he felt that he was alone in the 
world, for he had been his mother’s constant companion. 
Just when he had come to understand his father the bell 
had tolled once more. Once again he asked himself if his 
father and mother were alive would he have agreed to take 
the step which he was contemplating. 

“ I’ll not do it,” he cried resolutely as he started again 
to his feet. “I’ll not do it.” 

He returned to the house and threw himself upon the 
oak settee in front of the burning logs in the now lighted 
dining room. 


ON AN OAK SETTEE. 


137 


The motion of the steamer iwhose deck he had only 
left at noon was still felt by him, as it is by most persons 
during the first day or two after a long voyage ; and 
with this motion there came to him all the gracious mem- 
ories of the past seventeen days, when Bertha had been 
by his side. There was no suggestion of sadness in any 
of these memories, such as there had been in his recol- 
lections of the years long dead. It was only when he 
thought of what the future would be without her that he 
felt overwhelmed. 

Then the thought came to him of how he had seen her 
last. That man whom she called Eric Vicars had been 
by her side, smiling joyously upon her face opposite to 
his own in the cab. He had not failed to notice how the 
smile upon the man’s face had changed suddenly into a 
scowl when he saw that the girl was waving a farewell to 
her lover. 

If he were to go to Bertha the next day and tell her that, 
upon consideration, he found that he could not take her to 
himself unless she submitted to the ancient and common- 
place ceremony of marriage with him, they should part. 

And then ? 

There came over him once again that curious feeling 
which he had experienced for the first time in his life when 
he had seen her by the side of Eric Vicars. He felt certain 
what were the designs of this man Vicars in regard to 
Bertha. He felt certain that Mr. Vicars would not have 
any delicate scruples in the matter of humoring the girl. 
At any rate, if he had the least scruple, there were numbers 
of men who would have none. 

Was he prepared, then, to see this virgin life sacrificed to 
the inclination of some other man — of some man who would 
be unable to appreciate that purity of soul which was actu- 
ating her to set at defiance a social law which nearly every- 
one looked upon as the very foundation of civilized society ? 


138 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


Was he going to stand by while she became the victim of 
that coarse fellow — he was a coarse fellow, Charlton felt — 
whom she had called Eric Vicars ? It only required that 
some plausible adventurer should meet her — some scoundrel 
who would pretend to have principles identical with her own 
on the question of marriage, and she would become his 
victim. She had an income of several thousands a year — 
quite enough to tempt that coarse colonial, who had cer- 
tainly come to England to find her, doubtless after preying 
for some time upon her father. 

Charlton had a profound distrust of Eric Vicars. Who 
could avoid distrusting a man who had such an honest 
laugh ? he asked himself. It is a peculiar instinct that 
induces men to distrust others who have a fine, straightfor- 
ward way of laughing — when they are not looking at their 
neighbors out of the corners of their eyes, and others who 
wear a perpetual smile — when they are not cursing their 
wives for having a cook who sends underdone mutton to the 
table. 

Charlton could not think of Vicars with patience. Was 
it not clearly his duty to save that young virgin life from 
such a man — from all men who would only be too glad to 
appropriate her and her money ? That Mr. Hardy too, with 
his ridiculous theories and his semi-evangelistic airs — was 
he to be permitted to exercise his baleful influences over the 
girl, to get her to throw away her money, forwarding the 
interests of the society of carnisolists — as he called them in 
defiance of elementary philology ? 

Every moment made it plain to him that it was his duty 
to avert by all the means in his power the possibility of Bertha 
Lancaster’s being made the victim of unscrupulous adven- 
turers. Poor girl ! She deserved a better fate than that. 

He had but a poor opinion of his fellow-men when it came 
to a question of their accepting the companionship of the 
most charming girl in the world with an income of a trifle 


ON AN OAK SETTEE. 


139 


under twelve thousand pounds a year. It was clearly his 
duty to protect her from them all. 

‘‘ I love thee so dear that I only can leave thee,” sang 
Mrs. Browning’s heroic lover. That was all very fine and 
heroic ; but would the resolution bear to be regarded as 
equally heroic if the man was leaving the girl whom he 
loved to become the victim of an unprincipled adventurer ? 
Was there anything heroic in delivering her over to a life of 
degradation and misery ? 

His mind was fully made up. He would be her protector. 
He would shelter her with that great love of his, so that no 
danger should approach her. She would never know any- 
thing but happiness with him. Oh, it was perfectly true 
what she had said : they were already wedded. They had 
the sanction of Heaven, whose best gift to man is love, for 
their union ; what did it matter whether or not a priest was 
concerned in the transaction ? All the hierarchy could not 
bring them nearer to each other than they were. 

Heaven was everything. They were one in the sight of 
Heaven. That was warrant enough for him. As for that 
colonial adventurer — well, he would find out that he might 
as well have remained in Australia crushing his quartz. 
Bertha Lancaster would not be a gold mine to him. 

He laughed aloud at the thought of the discomfiture of 
the colonial adventurer. His laugh was anything but frank 
and honest. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


ON THE ART OF LYING. 

J ULIAN CHARLTON spent an hour with his thoughts 
in the dining room, and then he went into the large 
drawing room, carrying with him a lamp. The delicate 
French decorations of the wall still remained covered with 
chintz, and the old ormolu candelabra were hidden in bags 
of oiled silk. The French cabinets with Watteau-painted 
panels of porcelain were, however, exposed, and the 
polished parquet of the floor glistened beneath the light of 
his lamp. He took the cover off one of the chairs and 
seated himself. It was a beautiful room, he knew ; but 
what would it be when she had come to it — when she would 
be in that chair with her fair head lying upon the French 
tapestry which had been hidden beneath the chintz ? The 
room was silent now, but soon the music of her voice and 
its sweet laughter would be heard there. 

While he was thinking his thoughts Mrs. Barwell, the 
housekeeper, entered the room, but seemed surprised to 
find him there, and apologized for her intrusion. 

“Why, I was just about to set out in search of you, Mrs. 
Barwell,” said he. 

“ I didn’t think you would leave the dining room, sir,” 
said the housekeeper. “You said you didn’t want this 
room put in order for you, or I would have seen to it.” 

“ I merely strolled in to see if I recollected anything of 
it,” said he. “ I have not been in a better room since I 
left home, Mrs. Barwell.” 

“Do you say so, sir? Well, I’m pleased to hear it. I 
notice a spot of damp on the wall under that window ; but 


140 


ON THE ART OF LYING. 


141 

it may be nothing, after all. I had the floor done once a 
week, and the curtains shook every fortnight ; for let the 
moths get in and you may make up your mind to keep 
them in.’* 

“ It is a pleasant room, Mrs. Barwell ; it only needs one 
thing to make it the pleasantest in the world.” 

“ The flowers, sir ; ah, I knew you’d say that ; only, you 
see, you came so sudden like on us at last, and you said you 
would not leave the dining room this evening.” 

“ I wasn’t thinking of flowers — at least not exactly. The 
fact is — well, I suppose a man must get married some time, 
Mrs. Barwell.” 

“You don’t say so. Master Julian !” cried the house- 
keeper, lapsing in her excitement into an obsolete mode of 
address. “To be sure — to be sure! Didn’t they all say 
that it would be queer if you didn’t find some young woman 
in foreign parts that would take your fancy ? And so 
you’ve been and found her. I hope the color is all right. 
Master Julian,” she added gravely. 

“ The color ? ” said he. 

“ I don’t think I could respect a mistress that was either 
black or yellow, God forgive me ! ” said Mrs. Barwell. 
“ Not but what I’ve seen foreigners as far away as Boolong 
that was a moderate wholesome color — for foreigners, of 
course ; but most of them have a lampblack complexion^ 
and the rest look as if they were uncommon slow in getting 
rid of a bad attack of the jaundice. A duck’s foot isn’t a 
pleasant object for a gentleman to have before his eyes for 
a constancy. You’ve set your hopes of happiness on some- 
thing softer than saffron in color. Master Julian ? ” 

“ She is a good English girl, Mrs. Barwell,” said he. 

“ Thank God for that — thank God for that ! ” cried the 
housekeeper piously. 

“ Yes, she is a good English girl — that is, Australian.*’ 

Mrs. Barwell’s face fell. 


142 


“/ FORBID THE BA HNS/ 


“ Australian ? Ah ! Botany Bay was all the talk when I 
was a slip of a girl. An Australian, did you say, sir ? God 
forbid ! " 

“ She was born in Australia, Mrs. Barwell, but her father 
and mother were both English. That makes her English, 
doesn’t it ? ” 

“ I’d be very cautious who I’d call an Englishman or an 
Englishwoman. If we weren’t very cautious there’s no 
knowing who mightn’t claim to be called English — the 
Cornish folk, perhaps, or the Presbyterians.” 

“ Why, Mrs. Barwell, the Australians are far more Eng- 
lish than the English themselves. They keep their hats in 
their hands while the entire of ‘ God Save the Queen ’ is 
being performed by the band.” 

“ That’s a good sign, sir, if the young women are yellow. 
And may I ask when the happy event is to take place ?” 

Julian Charlton was silent. The woman repeated her 
question ; but even then there was a long pause before he 
burst into an unnaturally loud laugh, saying : 

“ When ? Why, we are married already, Mrs. Barwell.” 

“What ! Married already, sir? And not a word about 
it among the obituaries in the Times, sir — not a word 
about it even in the Brackenshire Chronicle ? I don’t like 
that, sir. It doesn’t seem altogether square when a Charl- 
ton of Brackenhurst Court gets married without it appear- 
ing among the obituaries in the Times or to the length of a 
column, maybe, in the Chronicle T 

“ I am sorry you don’t like it, Mrs. Barwell. If I had 
thought that you wouldn’t be pleased — but there ! it’s too 
late now.” 

“ And where did it happen, sir? ” the housekeeper asked 
as if she were alluding to an accident. 

“ Where ? Why, in Australia, to be sure. Where else 
should it happen ?” 

“ Then they have a sort of marriage there — they don’t 


ON THE ART OF LYING, 


143 


live altogether promiskiss like ? Anyhow, to make sure, 
I’d have it performed again by the Reverend Mr. Loftus, or 
maybe the lord bishop himself, in your own church. You 
didn’t leave her in Australia, sir ? ” 

“She is in London, Mrs. Barwell, and she will remain 
there for a week or two yet. Then — perhaps we may go 
abroad for a month or so ; nothing is settled yet.” 

“ If you had but given us a day’s notice we could have 
had the best bedroom ready for you both ” — Julian 
Charlton gave a little gasp, his face flamed like a girl’s, 
and then a curious coldness seized him — “but you didn’t 

even say that there was a mistress coming ” He 

gave another gasp. 

“ Never mind, Mrs. Barwell,” said he, rising quickly. “ It 
is necessary for us to be in London for some weeks at least. 
That will give you plenty of time to prepare for us.” 

“ Plenty, indeed, sir,” said the housekeeper, going to the 
door. “ And I’m sure I wish you every happiness, sir, if 
it’s not too late.” 

“ It’s never too late to wish a man happiness — not even 
when he is married,” said Julian, with a laugh. 

“ And I know that she should be a happy lady this day 
— unless you have changed a good deal during your travels, 
sir. The Charltons have always been good husbands — 
there has never been anything loose in their way of living, 
and every Charlton has had a group of at least six brides- 
maids, and groomsmen to match at the other side. I do 
hope that I may announce that you had at least six couples 
behind you at the church, sir.” 

“ You may say nine if you please — that will be on the 
safe side,” laughed Julian. 

Mrs. Barwell did not laugh. On the contrary, she was 
very solemn as she opened the door, made a housekeeper’s 
courtesy, and disappeared into the dim-lighted hall. 

He gave a sigh of relief. 


144 “/ FORBID THE BANNS H* 

When a man has been for about thirty years accustomed 
to be strictly accurate in his speech, and never even to sug- 
gest a falsehood, he has always more or less difficulty in 
accommodating himself to a different course of life. It is 
not so easy becoming a liar as people generally suppose. 
Julian Charlton was but a beginner — a clumsy amateur at 
an art in which even the cleverest of mankind have failed 
to perfect themselves, in spite of almost constant practice 
in its higher branches. 

All points considered, he was to be pardoned those little 
gasps of his nowand again — for those inartistic little pauses 
when he should have been glib — for that little sigh of relief 
when he was released. 

Even the most exacting critic might have pardoned him. 

He wanted practice. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


ON THE ART OF SINGING. 

T he house in Chelsea to which Julian Charlton was 
driven on the next evening was a modest one, not far 
from the hospital. On the iron gate giving one access to 
a garden, twenty feet by fifteen, there was a brass plate 
bearing the inscription : 

The Carnisolist Society, 

Matthew Hardy , Secretary. 

This scarcely looked like the house which a young woman 
having an income of between ten and twelve thousand 
pounds a year would be likely to choose as a permanent 
residence in London. If these were the headquarters of 
the carnisolists he should judge that the society had not yet 
reached a position that commanded the attention of the 
opulent. 

As he knocked he reflected upon the possibility of the 
finances of the society being suddenly placed on a more 
satisfactory basis through the incident of the secretary’s 
niece coming to reside at the headquarters of the carni- 
solists. 

But this conjecture and every other one was sent to the 
winds when he became aware of the fact that a duet was 
being sung within the house — a duet for a very unmanage- 
able bass and a very sympathetic soprano. 

He had never heard Bertha sing, but he knew in an 
instant that the soprano was hers. He had never heard 
Vicars sing, but he had a settled conviction that the unruly 
bass was his. 


*45 


146 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


The voices went on while he waited impatiently out- 
side the door. Clearly the attendance of the servants at 
the bureau of the carnisolists left a good deal to be 
desired. 

He knocked a second time. 

The voices went on inside, and the bass was more 
demonstrative than ever. 

He knocked a third time with a force that threatened 
the panel of the door. 

A face appeared at a window to the left, the head cran- 
ing round as far as possible. After another interval, the 
door was opened by a rather battered female servant. 

“ Did you knock more than once ? ” she inquired affably 
when Julian reached the door mat. 

“ I knocked three times,’' he replied, hardly so affably. 

“ I thort sow,” said the girl ; “ I didn’t ’ear yow for the 
noise,” and she made a motion with her elbow toward a 
door to the right ; beyond that door the startling duet was 
being sung. 

The servant knocked at the door as a matter of form, and 
almost at the same instant turned the handle. 

The duet came to an abrupt close, as he entered the 
room and found himself face to face with Bertha, who had 
just risen from the piano, and Eric Vicars, who was stand- 
ing by her side. 

Her face lightened up as she gave her hand to her lover 
without a word. 

Mr. Vicars laughed loudly, wiping his moist forehead 
with the cuff of his coat. Then his hand went out with a 
flash to Julian, and remained extended until — the interval 
was considerable — Julian discovered it was there. 

“ We were having one of the old songs together,” said 
Vicars in his hearty style. “ It is one of the real bush 
songs. You heard the Coo-ee chorus, I expect. We do 
the Coo-ee pretty well together, I think. It’s a real 


ON THE ART OF SINGING. 147 

bush song that, and it does bring back the wild life to a 
chap.” 

“ I can hardly doubt it,” said Julian. 

“ Why, I taught it to Bertha when she wasn’t higher than 
that table,” continued the ex-overseer. She came up for 
a spell to our run with the poor old dad. Ah, we had a 
time of it, my girl ! Bless me, how that song did bring it 
all back to me. It did me good ; my eyes got a bit watery 
at times here and there.” He turned away his head for a 
moment, and Julian saw the back of his arm moving to and 
fro on a level with his eyes. “ It’s nothing to be ashamed 
of,” continued Mr. Vicars, turning round once more, as if he 
had made up his mind to be a man. “ I’m not ashamed, if 
my eyes did become moist.” 

“ There is no reason to be so,” said Julian. “ No, not 
even if the moisture extended to your forehead, as it seems 
to have done.” 

“ Poor Eric sings with all his heart ; he has a large 
heart,” remarked Bertha, smiling. 

“ Who wouldn’t sing with one's heart when you are join- 
ing in ? ” cried Eric. “ It’s a real bush song that — the 
sound of the stock whip is in every line, I tell you. Bertha 
is the pretty daughter of the squatter, you see, mister, and 
I’m the overseer that’s in love with her on the sly.” Here 
he laughed loud and long and looked as sly as any man of 
the stalwart, frank, straightforward type could look. For 
a man with so large a heart he was wonderfully successful 
in sim’ulating slyness. “ The story of the song — that’s 
what I’m explaining, mind — only the story of the song. 
To be sure, Bertha was the pretty daughter of a squatter, 
and I did a little in the overseeing line — that doesn’t inter- 
fere with the story of the song — dear me, no ! Let us try 
over the Coo-ee once more, Bertha. It comes in, mister, 
when the lover wants to signal to the girl that he’s waiting 
for her among the blue gums. Oh, it’s a real bush song 


148 I FORBID THE BANNS/’' 

and no mistake. Lord, how it brings back the old 
time ! ” 

What was Mr. Charlton to say in reply to this exuber- 
ance — the exuberance of a schoolboy with overflowing 
spirits ? 

He said nothing ; he only looked at Bertha. She was 
the same as ever, although surrounded by the horrible 
types of furniture that were produced during the early 
years of the queen’s reign. The Windsor chair, the couch 
with a hump, the vulgar mahogany sideboard with much of 
the veneer peeled away — these were the most prominent 
objects in the room. The pictures were German prints of 
the Empress Eugenie, the queen and the prince consort, 
and her Majesty handing a Bible to the amazed nondescript 
barbaric chief, assuring him that it was the secret of 
England’s greatness. 

In spite of all she was exquisite. 

But what could he say to her with that big brute standing 
at her elbow ? 

“ You did not find that your home was in ashes ?” said 
she. That is what the returned wanderer in stories 
usually does, when he has set all his expectations on seeing 
his home once again.” 

“ The only ashes were those of the logs in the fireplace,” 
said he. “ They had made a fire for me, feeling sure that 
I would appreciate it.” 

And you sat once more by your own fireside ?J’ 

“ On the contrary, I strolled away through the grounds. 
I heard the blackbirds, the rooks, the cuckoos.” 

“ And you felt that you had everything to make your 
home happy ? ” 

“ Not quite, not quite.” 

She looked into his face and understood him. 

“ I wonder what I shall think of your blackbirds — what I 
shall think of your cuckoos,” said she. 


ON THE ART OF SINGING. 


149 


“My word, Bertha,” interposed Vicars, “you will find 
yourself longing for the scream of a cockatoo, for the yell 
of the lory. Give me a real bird in the bush.” 

“ I prefer the one in the hand,” said Bertha. 

“ There’s not an English bird that isn’t a poor sort of 
cheeper compared with ours. Did you ever hear a real 
sulphur cockatoo in its own woods, mister ? ” 

“ Not exactly,” said Charlton ; “ but I have heard a 
bushman sing.” 

Bertha burst into a ringing laugh. 

Mr. Vicars did not — for a few moments. Then he made 
up in the loudness of his laughter for the time he had 
remained silent. 

“You had me there, mister, I allow. Well, I dare say I 
am a bit loud, and maybe harsh too, but what does that 
matter if your heart’s in the right place ? There’s no one 
here — or elsewhere, for that matter — that won’t allow that 
my heart’s in the right place. Eh, Bertha? ” 

“ Poor old Eric ! ” said Bertha. “ Everyone who knows 
you will allow that, I’m certain, even though you do 
threaten to bring the roof down when you sing.” 

“ What do you say to that ?” cried Eric proudly, with a 
wave of his arm in the direction of Julian. 

“I have never heard,” said Julian quietly, “ that vocal 
incapacity was an evidence of cardiac disorder. But I 
assure you I had no intention of criticising your — 
singing.” 

“ No ? Then I accept your apology in the spirit it is 
offered in,” cried Eric, flashing out his hand once again for 
Julian to grasp. 

“ My dear sir, you are under some strange misapprehen- 
sion,” said the latter. “ There’s no question of apology 
under discussion, though I am always pleased to shake 
hands with anyone whose heart is in the right place.” 

He merely touched the man’s hand with his fingers, so 


ISO “/ FORBID THE BANNS!'' 

that Eric grasped a handful of air with his usual hearti- 
ness. Julian had turned his back on him and was talking 
to Bertha before the ex-overseer had quite recovered from 
a course of treatment to which he was not accustomed. 
Hitherto he had always been the rude man — what is the 
good of having your heart in the right place unless it 
admits of your being rude with impunity ?, Here, however, 
was a man who, without enjoying a reputation for having 
his heart in the right place, claimed the privilege of being 
extremely offensive ! Eric Vicars was certainly not accus- 
tomed to this sort of thing. 

Neither was he accustomed to be in the room with Ber- 
that while another man was talking to her, and in a low, 
exclusive tone of voice. 

He only wished that he had a chance of meeting that 
fellow with the slim figure and the fashionably cut coat 
in the neighborhood of the stockyard while the cattle 
were being driven in. He might cut a dash among the 
swells — perhaps he was a masher, or maybe a Johnnie — in 
London, but what a fool he would be with a stock 
whip ! His honest heart was filled with a sense of his 
own superiority, if it came to a question of driving cattle. 
And yet here was this fellow Charlton, who knew nothing 
whatever about cattle driving, actually insulting him, Eric, 
who was a complete master of the arts of driving and 
branding and horning ! The thing was simply monstrous- 

He looked out of the window and began to whistle. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


ON THE BEAST. 

H e was rewarded by the sight of a four-wheeler at the 
door. Mr. Hardy and his wife stepped out, and when 
the maidservant found time to answer their knock they 
entered the room. 

Eric smiled to observe the expression on Charlton’s face 
as he was greeted by the secretary of the carnisolists. He 
smiled more broadly still as Mr. Hardy began a disquisition 
on the subject of the new cult, which involved total absti- 
nence from all forms of food except flesh meat. 

“I hope I may count on your becoming a member, Mr. 
Charlton,” said the secretary. “All that we want now is an 
increase in membershjp and plenty of life members with the 
privilege of signing oneself V. I. C. T. I. M.” 

“Victim,” said Bertha, with a laugh. 

“V. I. C. T. I. M.,” continued Mr. Hardy, ignoring her 
interruption. “That is, I need hardly say, Vice-Integral Car- 
nisolist To Improve Mankind. Let me make out a receipt for 
your life subscription, sir? We want intelligent men badly. ” 
“Not a doubt of it,” said Bertha. 

“I am afraid that all the contribution of this nature that 
I could offer you would not materially add to your resources, 
Mr. Hardy,” said Charlton. 

“Twenty-five guineas, Mr. Charlton, is still something,” 
said the secretary. 

“That is money, not intelligence,” remarked Julian. 

Mr. Hardy looked really puzzled, as persons do when 
they are trying to master some subtle theological distinction, 
involving fine hair splitting. 


152 


■‘/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


“Money — intelligence” — he shook his head. “Intelli- 
gence — money’ ’ — reversed it seemed equally puzzling to him. 
“I fear I did not make myself plain to you,” said he. 
“We want intelligence — that is, life members; any man 
who becomes a member proves himself to be thoroughly 
intelligent, just as the man who joins the Church to which 
you belong proves himself to be orthodox. I’m sorry to say 
that there are few really intelligent men in London. I 
thought I had secured five a fortnight ago. I was mistaken : 
they did not pay their subscriptions. Butchers are not gen- 
erally regarded by the rest of mankind as among the most 
intelligent of persons, and yet the Carnisolist Society has 
established the fact that there are no more intelligent men 
than butchers and stock raisers. Nearly all our members 
belong to these classes. I cannot understand how anyone 
can doubt that we have Scripture on our side. A careful 
study of the sacred word reveals that there are countless 
texts in favor of our principles. If you only read with the 
object of proving your point, it’s wonderful how much evi- 
dence you can find in the Bible to back you up. It’s a won- 
derful book, Mr. Charlton. If there is one injunction that 
it lays down as more incumbent on mankind than another, 
it is on the subject of eating animal food Our members — 
the butchers and the stock raisers — are strongly impressed 
with this truth; they conscientiously believe that all other 
forms of food are delusive, not to say unscriptural. You 
have heard of the Beast, Mr. Charlton?” 

“Several,” said Charlton. “What particular animal do 
you allude to?” 

“St. John’s Beast, the Beast in Revelation — well, that, we 
are assured, typifies Vegetarianism.” 

“The Beast — Vegetarianism? The Beast seems rather 
an unfortunate type of the principles of Vegetarianism, Mr. 
Hardy.” 

“It seems so at first, Mr. Charlton. But a little study of 


ON THE BEAST. 


153 


what can be done in interpretation will convince you, I am 
sure, that frequently the best types are those that seem to 
suggest just the opposite of what they really mean. That 
induces people to search out the hidden meanings for them- 
selves. The Book of the Revelation is so called because it 
conceals everything; therefore, on the same principle, the 
Beast is Vegetarianism. You will become a life member, 
Mr. Charlton?” 

”I shall have to think over it, Mr. Hardy,” said Charlton, 
brushing the edge of his hat with his sleeve, preparatory to 
departing. 

“Will you not stay and have some tea with us?” said Mrs. 
Hardy. ‘‘We dined early to-day : Mr. Hardy has accus- 
tomed himself to do so; but we shall have tea in half an 
hour.” 

‘‘lam sorry that I have an engagement,” said Charlton. 
‘‘Indeed, I am almost late for it now. I must say good- 
by.” 

He was outside the door of the room in a moment, Bertha 
by his side. 

‘‘Dearest,” he whispered, ‘‘you cannot remain among 
such surroundings. Come away with me now.” 

‘ ‘That would be impossible, ’ ’ she replied. ‘ ‘It is a shock- 
ing house — it makes me quite ill. My aunt says it is 
extremely good for London; they are all the same, she says, 
no matter what money you may have to spend. She will 
not spend a penny of what I allow her as directed by 
my father’s will. Poor Uncle Matthew is madder than 
ever.” 

‘‘Good Heavens, you cannot stay here, Bertha!” 

‘‘I have made up my mind to it, dearest — for a month at 
any rate. I want you to be certain, quite certain, that you 
have done what is right in making that promise to me.” 

‘‘I have only to look at you here in the midst of this 
squalor — in the midst of this insanity and vulgarity, to feel 


154 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


that I should be doing what is right in taking you away 
without the delay of a moment.” 

“It cannot be, dearest,” she said, shaking her head. “I 
want you to be quite certain — as I am. You have not been 
thinking as I have on this matter. Perhaps even when you- 
were sitting alone last night you came to the conclusion that 
I was wrong and that you were right.” 

He looked at her without a word for some moments. 

“I came to the conclusion that you are part of my life,” 
said he after a pause. “Apart from you my life would be 
miserably incomplete. Let me take you away at once.” 

“I will be here to-morrow, and the next day, and the day 
after that, and you can be with me every day, and show me 
if London is really so very much finer than Sydney; so far 
I prefer Sydney.” 

“Then if you are dressed and waiting for me here at one 
o’clock to-morrow, I shall come for you and show you some- 
thing of the place, leaving you here once more in the even- 
ing.” 

“That will be delightful,” said she. “Do not come 
before one o’clcok — my dresses are promised for noon, and 
it will take me quite an hour dressing.” 

“I will say half-pastone — that will give you some margin. 
For Heaven’s sake do not hurry in your dressing, dearest.” 

“You needn’t impress that on me,” she cried, with spar- 
kling eyes. “I know what it means to be properly dressed 
in London. An open carriage stopped near us where we 
were blocked on our way here. It contained an elderly lady 
with a, very thin nose, and two younger ones, each with a 
nose exactly like their mother’s. They wore ” 

“Thank you,” said Julian, who had now fully recovered 
his spirits. “I dine at eight, and it is now just seven. I 
won’t ask you to compress your description into so ridicu- 
lously short a space as an hour. Good-by, dearest — rather 
au revoir. ’ ’ 


ON THE BEAST. I55 

He put his hand at the back of her shapely head and 
kissed her on the mouth. 

At the same instant there came from the two-inch open 
space of a door to the right a gurgling laugh. 

He became aware of the fact that the handmaiden of the 
house had concealed herself behind that door for the pur- 
pose of hearing and seeing all that took place between Miss 
Lancaster and, as the girl would probably say, in describing 
the scene at some future date, her young man. 

He would, he reflected, become known in the row of 
houses, before the week was out, as Miss Lancaster’s young 
man. 

The reflection was not a pleasing one. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


ON A SHOW. 

H e slept at his club, after going to the Lyceum, and 
appeared at half-past one the next day at the house in 
Chelsea. This time he was not greeted with sounds such as 
came from the thorax of the ex-overseer. 

She met him in the narrow strip of hall. The moment 
he saw her his critical glance assured him that she might 
meet without trepidation the best dressed woman in London. 
He believed her to be the best dressed woman in London, 
and, what was nearly as important, the best looking as well. 

She was radiant as she got into his hansom. When they 
drove through Sloane Street he said, “Now we are entering 
London.” 

She caught his hand as they swept into Knightsbridge 
and the hansom pulled up suddenly, as three soldiers trotted 
up on black horses. The soldiers wore helmets with plumes, 
and sparkling cuirasses. Behind them at some distance she 
had a vision of a glittering fast-flowing stream — helmets, 
cuirasses, sabers, all glittering gloriously in the spring sun- 
light. On either side of the space cleared in the center of 
the road was an open line of tall soldiers wearing bearskins, 
rigidly presenting arms. It seemed to Bertha that the lines 
were continued for about a mile on either hand. 

‘T quite forgot,” said Julian; “the Emperor of Morocco 
arrived to-day; he will probably be in the carriage with the 
prince. Yes, here come the Guards.” 

The great glittering stream of soldiers swept up before 
her eyes. Then the men in the crowd took off their hats, 
and a great cheer arose as the carriage with four horses and 

156 


ON A SHOW. 


157 


outriders approached. An officer, splendidly mounted, was 
on either side. In the carriage was the Emperor of Morocco 
glittering with jewels, and by his side, in the uniform of the 
Morocco Chasseurs, of which, it is scarcely necessary to 
say, he is colonel, was the prince. Behind the carriage rode 
the staff officers, their plumes flying behind them. Then 
came about a dozen more carriages, and Julian told her the 
names of the occupants of each. The mounted policeman 
gave the signal for the traffic to be resumed, and the han- 
som dashed ahead. 

“This is London,” whispered Bertha. ‘‘I admit it: it is 
better even than Sydney.” 

He drove to a restaurant in Piccadilly, where they lunched. 
Then they walked together to Burlington House. It was 
the private view day at the academy. He had obtained 
two tickets from one of his friends the previous evening. 

“Why,” said Bertha, “it is like a photographer’s window 
at Sydney, only here all the celebrities are alive. I seem to 
know every one.” 

They were in the sculpture gallery. Around them were 
the fashionable actors, novelists — most modest of men — 
clergymen — all with gaiters, and some with aprons to keep 
their clothes from being stained by contact with the world — 
statesmen — they seemed to her but a feeble folk — judges — 
they looked jovial rather than judicial. Most interesting of 
all was the burlesque actress, whom a duke had married so 
soon as her own husband, who was a bookbinder, had got a 
divorce from her. Everyone looked at the painted face, the 
golden tresses, and the trained smile of her Grace — even the 
clergymen in aprons fingered their gold eyeglasses nervously, 
and, as she stood before them, showed no disposition for 
several moments to criticise the other works of art around 
her. The youthful duke looked vastly proud of his pur- 
chase. He was a duke, so could not hope to do anything 
particular in the world; but it was universally admitted that 


FORBID THE BANNS I 


158 

he had made an admirable co-respondent. His wife 
remained on the stage, and danced in a costume the tend- 
ency of which was certainly not to conceal her charms, and 
her manager, as he counted his profits, declared that, as an 
auxiliary to the dramatic appreciation of the public of Great 
Britain, the divorce court had its place among the institu- 
tions of the country. 

Another peer of the realm, whose father had been Lord 
High Chancellor — his enemies said he had been the best 
keeper of the queen’s conscience ever known for the simple 
reason that he had none of his own to look after — was a 
noticeable object as he shook hands with the duchess. 

“Altissima Peto” was the motto of his family, which he 
adapted to his daily life by wearing the highest collars in 
London. 

Another gentleman who spoke to her grace was the son 
of an Irish judge. His grandfather had, however, been a 
respectable man. 

Bertha looked around at the most resplendent of the 
visitors. 

“I knew that we were coming to an exhibition of paint- 
ings,” she whispered, “but I ” 

“Celebrities among women are appalling,” said Julian. 
“It is the women whose husbands are celebrated that are 
nice.” 

He pointed out to her some of the fresh, graceful girls 
who are to be seen at every function in England, and she 
looked with admiration upon them and their toilets. 

The crowds were very animated. 

Now and again, too, when they had a moment to spare, 
they looked at the pictures and yawned. 

They seemed to think that the place would have been very 
nice if it were not for the pictures. 

It did not take Julian Charlton long to perceive that 
Bertha was attracting a large amount of attention. He 


ON A SHO W. 


159 


could see that she was admired on every side. Bertha, of 
course, being a woman, would have remained in ignorance 
of this fact if he had not told her of it. 

He told her that he expected she would create a distinct 
impression upon the personages of the world. It was on 
this account he had brought her into the midst of the most 
notable society in the world. But he assured her that she 
had produced a far greater impression than he had antic- 
ipated. 

She gave no sign of displeasure. On the contrary, she 
laughed, and declared that she had felt, the instant she had 
seen her new frocks, that the young lady whom Mme. John 
Smith of Regent Street had sent to her in reply to her tele- 
gram was a thorough artist. 

“There is no satisfaction in the world like feeling that one 
is well dressed,” said she. “And there is no one better 
dressed than 1 am.” 

In the course of half an hour the associate from whom 
Julian had got his tickets came up and greeted his friend. 
Julian presented him to Bertha, and he inquired how it was 
that he had never met Miss Lancaster before. 

“You have set us all wondering. Miss Lancaster,” said 
he, assuming the air of an associate of fashion rather than 
of a narrow-minded corporation such as the academy. 
“You have quite put in the shade Carpenter’s ‘A Morsel 
for a Monarch.’ Half an hour ago we were all talking 
about the picture, now we have all been talking about you. 
You have made an implacable enemy of Carpenter.” 

“I am nobody,” said she. “I am a colonial nonentity, 
paying my first visit to home — we all call England home 
in Australia. I saw one of your pictures in the Sydney 
gallery. There is no picture more admired in the colony.” 

The painter thought he had never seen a more charming 
girl in all his life. 

“Mr. ^Charlton has just shown me your new one — ‘Where 


i6o 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!'' 


the Wild Asses do Quench their Thirst’ — and I have made 
up my mind that I shall buy it and send it out to Sydney as 
a gift. It is far better even than your ‘Journey to Eschol.’ 
Do you not think so?” 

“I never think about my own works, Miss Lancaster,” 
said he. “It is quite bad enough to have to paint them.” 

‘‘You will sell it to me, though? Surely you will not 
refuse me?” 

‘‘I really have not the heart,” said he. “You plead for 
that privilege in a way that it is impossible to resist. I must 
send a message to the secretary to say that it is sold. It 
would be awkward if it were to be sold three or four times 
over.” 

“It would,” said Charlton. “So far as I can gather that 
calamity has never befallen any of your previous works. It 
is better to sell three of them once over than one of them 
three times over. Isn’t that so?” 

“Miss Lancaster, I appreciate your judgment the more, 
now that I know it has not been influenced by Charlton, ’ ’ said 
the associate. “I hope you are really in earnest about the 
picture. I have a wife and two children : they want bread. ’ ’ 

“Of course lam in earnest,” said Bertha. “I only hope 
that you are not raising my expectations of getting the 
picture, only to dash them to the ground. You will let me 
have it?” 

“And Miss Lancaster will give you five shillings in hand 
to lay out in loaves, which you can carry home in a red 
cotton handkerchief to keep starvation from the studio door 
until Monday,” said Charlton. 

Before another half hour had passed it was known through- 
out the galleries that “Where the Wild Asses do Quench 
their Thirst” had been sold to the beautiful girl, whose pres- 
ence at the private view had almost eclipsed in interest that 
of the lady who had entered the peerage through the door 
of the divorce court. 


ON A SHOW. 


iCi 

There was quite a flutter among some of the most antique 
of the academicians at the intelligence. She might have 
had the entire body presented to her had she been so minded. 

As it was, .he had quite a number of the best known men 
in England presented to her; for it was surprising how many 
old friends of Charlton’s turned up in the course of a short 
time — most of them painters. The interest they displayed 
in the progress of art in the colonies — Sydney especially — 
could not have been otherwise than extremely gratifying to 
Miss Lancaster. 

The three evening papers which contained society para- 
graphs announced the purchase of “Where the Wild Asses 
do Quench their Thirst.” 

The first stated that it had been bought by Miss La Cas- 
tra, the daughter of a well-known American millionaire of 
Spanish extraction. 

The second mentioned that the widow of a Lancashire 
merchant had bought the work of the rising associate. 

The third said it was an open secret that the picture had 
been sold to Miss Sydney for presentation to the fine art 
museum which was in course of formation at Lancaster. 
Miss Sydney, it added, was the only daughter of one of the 
most highly respected merchants in the town which was about 
to benefit by her munificence. 

Every day during the next week Charlton called at the 
house at Chelsea, and carried Bertha away with him. He 
never entered the house, nor did he inquire what were the 
views of Mrs. Hardy on the subject of the propriety of 
Bertha’s daily disappearance with himself. He was not 
greatly concerned to learn what were the views of Mrs. Hardy 
on any subject. He was equally indifferent in respect of 
Mr. Vicars’ opinion; and Bertha did not think it necessary 
to tell him that Mr. Vicars had, on the second day after her 
arrival in England, laid his childlike, but unusually large 
heart at her feet, and that, on being informed that she could 


i 62 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/’* 

not accept his gift, the ex-overseer had put himself on a 
rigime of the steadiest drinking that he had yet subjected 
himself to in the course of a somewhat checkered career in 
England and the colonies. 

Nothing occurred to mar the happiness of this week, so 
far as Julian Charlton was concerned. He took her every- 
where — even to the Tower. 

He had become fully reconciled to the idea that he was 
married to her. Only he could not suggest to her the pro- 
priety — this is not exactly the word that was in his mind — of 
naming the day when she would cease to live at the house 
in Chelsea and come to the shelter of his great love for her. 
It certainly requires some delicacy on the part of a man situ- 
ated as he was to make any suggestion on such a point. 
But he had now no misgiving as to the result of the adoption 
of her principles regarding the nature of marriage and the 
sacredness of the bond. Of course it would not do for all 
the world to adopt these principles; for, unfortunately, all 
the world could not know what it was to love as he and Bertha 
loved. 

He had too much delicacy even to suggest to Bertha the 
pleasure it would give him if she would allow him to take 
her fora day to Brackenhurst Court. The suggestion came 
from her one day when he had been telling her how he had 
sat in his great drawing room thinking of her. 

“I should so much like to see the place,” said she. 

‘‘You can do so to-morrow,” cried he. ‘‘We can leave 
Waterloo at 12.25 and be at the Court to lunch at three 
o’clock, returning to town by the train leaving Brackenhurst 
at six. Why should we not carry out this programme?” 

‘‘Why not?” said she. 

‘‘Then it is settled,” said he. 

They went down to Brackenhurst by the 12.25 train the 
next day. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


ON A FINE DAY. 

N OW and again, at intervals of some years, it happens 
that the month of May in England contains a fine day; 
but even the oldest inhabitant of Brackenhurst, who remem- 
bered when England had a climate — when the summer, 
according to the account daily given by the oldest inhabit- 
ant, consisted of six months of more than tropical heat, and 
the winter of six months of more than arctic snow and ice 
— failed to recall a May that opened with such promise as 
that which greeted Bertha’s arrival in England. 

When the picturesque little station of Brackenhurst was 
reached, and the train had rushed on into the distance of cut- 
tings and tunnels, leaving the girl by the side of Charlton 
among the scarlet runners and the red geraniums that bor- 
dered the platform, a blackbird appeared on a thorn bush that 
was giving an indication of the coming flower, and burst into 
song. A lark fluttered upward from the meadow beneath, 
and soared through the whiff of smoke left by the engine, 
and when a moment of silence came the voice of the cuckoo 
sounded through the distance. 

“England! England! home! home !*’ cried the girl with 
her eyes full of tears; “I know it now. I have always won- 
dered what it meant — that talk of the newly arrived peo- 
ple at our station — that talk of the hedgerows, the birds’ 
songs, the scent of the hawthorn. I know now what it all 
means. It means home.” 

“And you will soon be at home, dearest,” said Julian. 
“The dogcart is waiting for us.” 

The drive to Brackenhurst village, which was three miles 

163 


164 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!" 


from Brackenhurst railway station, and on to Brackenhurst 
Court, which was a mile form Brackenhurst village, was the 
most delightful experience Bertha had ever undergone. 
The fields, covered over with the tender shoots of corn, the 
thick hedgerows, the silvery stream flowing down to the 
water wheel of an old mill, the church tower rendered shape- 
less in its forest of ivy, the forge at the crossroads — all were 
a delight to the girl fresh from Australia. She clapped her 
hands and laughed like a schoolgirl newly emancipated. 

The groom, sitting behind with rigid arms, hoped that she 
would not be seen by any person who was given to gossip — 
the rector, for instance. If her demonstrations were to 
become the subject of comment in the neighborhood he felt 
that he would never again be able to impart the regulation 
amount of rigidity to his arms behind her. 

The only one of all the spring’s delights which she was 
disposed to rate very low was the meadow with the sheep 
and young lambs which Julian pointed out to her. 

“Sheep,” said she, with a suspicion of contempt in her 
voice — “there’s nothing particular about sheep.” 

He laughed. 

“I forgot,” he said; “sheep are by no means uncommon 
in Australia.” 

Through the gates, and past the ivied lodge, with the old 
man in corduroys, and the old lady in a red shawl, making 
their courtesies at the door, the dogcart was driven, until, 
after about a mile of avenue, from which many a glimpse of 
deer wandering through the park was afforded Bertha, the 
imposing front of the Court came in sight. 

The avenue made a long sweep round by the terraces, so 
that every part of the mansion might be seen by anyone 
driving to the door. 

Bertha felt that the happiness of this happy day could not 
be exceeded, as she eagerly scanned the many symmetrical 
features of the Court. 


ON A FINE DAY. 165 

Before he pulled up at the porch Julian said to her in 
French: 

“In order to save trouble, dearest, I told the housekeeper 
that you were my wife. You must not start when she 
addresses you as ‘madam.’ ’’ 

“You were quite right,” said she with only a little flush 
upon her face. “If I were not your wife could I be here 
to-day?” 

She made a complete conquest of Mrs. Barwell, whom she 
suffered to lead her into various rooms, after she had laid off 
her hat, explaining the purport of each. The light French 
furniture in the boudoir overlooking the lawns had been 
uncovered, and the silk hangings replaced. The old house- 
keeper hoped that madam was pleased with the appearance 
of the room, and madam declared that she had never been 
in a more charming apartment — it was faultless. 

Then Mrs. Barwell showed her that interesting apartment 
known as the still-room, and Bertha expressed herself greatly 
pleased, especially with the appearance of last year’s pickled 
walnuts. At the end of the corridor a door was thrown open 
disclosing a spacious room with an iron grating in front of 
the fire, and iron bars across the lower windows. 

“This is the day nursery, madam,” said the housekeeper; 
“but if you think a southern aspect is better, we can easily 
prepare one of the bedrooms in the other wing.” 

She spoke in an unctuous whisper, and with infinite solemn- 
ity. 

Bertha said she was sure that the room was a very nice 
one, and she thought that perhaps Mr. Charlton might be 
waiting for her downstairs. 

She hurried away, leaving the housekeeper to close the 
doors, which she did, smiling all the time in a way that was 
full of subtle meaning. 

“My beloved — my beloved!” cried Julian, putting his 
arm around her as he met her at the foot of the staircase 


i66 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!** 


and led her into the drawing room; “nothing here is worthy 
of you. You glorify everything by your presence.” 

She gave herself to his arms and looked up to his face. 

“I feel that I have reached a new and lovelier world,” 
said she, as they seated themselves on a little couch that was 
made to hold only one in its chaste embrace — it was, how- 
ever, quite capacious enough for them at this moment. ‘‘1 
feel that I am simply recalling the incidents in some book 
of English life which I have read long ago. ‘Too passing 
sweet to be substantial’ — that is the line which has come to 
my mind often since we heard the blackbird welcoming us.” 

“My best beloved,” he whispered, “I shall live for you. 
I shall live to make you happy.” 

“You have done so already, ” she said. “My heart is full 
of content. My soul has found its husband-soul. Life can 
give us nothing better than this.” 

The sound of the gong separated them. 

The lunch was as graceful as the best they had partaken 
of during the past week in Piccadilly, and the white Burgundy 
was far better than any wine they had had. 

He drank to her across the table, “Welcome to the Court, ’ ’ 
and she replied with love in her eyes. 

He brought her out to the terrace and they sat together 
on one of the garden seats, listening to the music of the 
woodland, of the shrubberies, of the gardens. The world 
seemed full of music to this girl, who had never known any- 
thing in nature more musical than the Australian bush. The 
soft sunshine, the songs of the thrush and the blackbird, the 
drowsy cawing of the rooks, the sweet smell of the grass of the 
lawns and of the myriad primroses of the terraces mingled 
and became to her as the expression of a joy, the existence of 
which had never suggested itself to her. 

He was a part of this joy — he in whose hand she had laid 
her own. She could not fancy the song of the thrush being 
heard without the scent of the primroses coming to her. She 


ON A FINE DA Y. 167 

could not fancy the love of the spring day without the hand 
in which her own reposed. 

Like a knell to her happiness came the sudden sound of 
the church clock in the distance striking the hour. 

Julian quickly pulled out his watch. He found that the 
clock was only twenty minutes astray, which was marvelous 
for a church clock. It was, however, slow. The dogcart 
would be at the door in ten minutes to take them to the train, 

“Ah,” said the girl when he told her what the hour was, 
“Chelsea knows no pleasure like this.” 

He looked at her with eyes overflowing with tenderness as 
she was about to rise. He held her hand tightly in his own, 
keeping her in her place. Twice he opened his mouth to 
speak, but no words came. 

What was in his heart? Did she understand something 
of it, by the aid of that subtle soul communion existing 
between them? 

Why should her face flush suddenly? Why did her hand 
tremble? and, above all, why on earth should there be a sigh 
struggling in her throat? 

For purely spiritual lovers such expressions of emotion 
were remarkable. 

Alas ! even the soul of a man and woman becomes part of 
the springtime. They look upon the things of nature beneath 
their eyes, and criticise them from a superior height, forget- 
ful of the fact that they are but a part of the things around 
them. The strong life that beats in everything beneath their 
eyes pulsates within them quite as vehemently. There is 
no shutting out the influence of the spring. It throbs 
through all nature, and the soul of a man and a woman is 
part of nature, and submissive to nature’s schemes to effect 
her own purpose. 

Her little sigh scarcely managed to struggle forth. 

He dropped her hand, and got upon his feet, saying in a 
low voice: 


i68 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


“For God’s sake, Bertha, find your hat.” 

The imploration might strike some people as being ridicu- 
lously earnest. 

We do not ask our wives and sisters for God’s sake to 
complete their toilets when we are going to drive them to a 
railway station. But to Bertha it did not seem at all ridicu- 
lous that he should so implore of her to put on her hat. 

She was in the hall in a moment and running upstairs. 

“Ah, what a pity it is that you must go, madam,’’ said 
the housekeeper. “ Why should you go back to the smoke 
and the noise of London town?’’ 

“We must go back at once, Mrs. Barwell,’’ said the girl. 
“But I shall take back with me the recollection of the 
songs of your birds — oh, such songs!” 

“Ah, these are only the riff-raff of birds that you heard 
to-day,” said Mrs. Barwell. “They are only the blackbirds 
and the throstles. They are with us always; but last night, 
if you had been at this window, as I was, and had heard the 
first nightingale that has come to us, you would not talk about 
such fowl as them outside.” 

“Was it lovelier than the blackbird, Mrs. Barwell?” 

“Everybody to their own tastes in the matter of birds, 
my young lady — meaning madam — ma’am, but nobody that 
has an ear to hear would mention the nightingale in the same 
breath with the others. What a pity it is that you can’t tarry 
to hear the nightingale, madam.” 

“Oh, no, no!’ cried the girl in a way that frightened the 
housekeeper. “I could not hear it — I dare not. Oh, why 
is it that to be a woman is to be weak — miserably weak? I 
could not hear the nightingale. And yet, ah, I should like 
to hear it above anything in the world.” 

She threw herself into a chair and buried her face in her 
hands. Mrs. Barwell looked at the lovely young creature 
with an expression which was at first one of amazement, but 
which soon softened into one of matronly superiority. An 


ON A PINE DAY. 169 

illustrative smile accompanied the expression, as she mur- 
mured: 

“They do have their fancies, the poor young things! 
May, April, March, February. Does it take so long to come 
from Australia, I wonder?” Then she turned to Bertha, 
whispering with infinite confidentiality, “When was it you 
said you were married, my dear? Not later than February, 
surely.” 

The girl started. 

“Oh, do not talk to me about nightingales and marriage, 
and such things,” she cried. Then she gave a laugh that 
was not quite a laugh, and throwing her arms around the 
good old housekeeper, kissed her upon the cheek. “I beg 
your pardon, Mrs. Barwell,” she said; “but I don’t think I 
quite understand myself. It has been such a strange day 
altogether. Oh, I wonder do people ever go mad listening 
to the songs of those birds. Listen, you can hear them even 
yet now that the window is open.” 

Again the smile of matronly superiority overspread the 
countenance of the housekeeper. 

“Your lips are too hot to be wholesome, if I may say it, 
my young madam,” said she. “You would be all the better 
for tarrying here the night; to be sure these fancies do come 
and go; we must be prepared for them. Did you say it was 
in February? maybe March at the nearest.” 

“The dogcart is at the porch,” cried Bertha. “He said 
there was scarcely time to catch the train. Good-by, Mrs. 
Barwell; I am all right. I shall come and visit you again 
very soon, and look at — at those lovely — lovely — pickled 
walnuts.” 

With another curious laugh that had something hysterical 
in its tone she flashed to the door with radiant cheeks and 
sparkling eyes, and was seated by the side of Julian in the 
dogcart before the housekeeper had recovered from her sur- 
prise, and had ceased murmuring plaintively: “Pickled wal- 


1 70 “/ FORBID THE BA HNS/’* 

nuts! lovely pickled walnuts! What could the poor young 
thing mean? Well, she’s flesh and blood, and as handsome 
as if she had been English born and bred. Only — pickled 
walnuts. What could she mean, anyway?” 

It is not surprising that Mrs. Barwell did not understand 
the girl. 

The girl did not understand herself. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


ON PROVIDENCE AND THE FIEND. 

^\T7E can do it, Carson?” said Julian to the groom as he 
VV put the horse to its pace down the avenue. 

‘‘We’ll do it easy, sir,” the man replied. ‘‘The train is 
never just punctual, sir. I’ve seen it as much as five minutes 
behind. We’ll have over two minutes to wait at the station, 
sir.” 

“Of course we’ll do it,” muttered Julian. • 

The horse was a fine half-bred chestnut. It did not need 
any urging. It went with a great stride down the avenue to 
the lodge gate. 

The gate was closed. 

“What is that man about?” cried Julian when he per- 
ceived that the gate was closed. “Why the deuce does he 
not open the gate?” 

The groom got to his feet and sent out a long “halloa” 
over the heads of the occupants of the front seat. Julian 
joined his voice with that of the groom. 

Neither the highly picturesque old man with the corduroys 
nor the highly picturesque old woman with the red shawl 
whom Bertha had admired so greatly approached the gate 
to open it. 

The groom swung himself to the ground the moment his 
master slackened the pace of the horse, and ran ahead to 
the double gate. He turned the handle and gave a tug to 
the gate, thinking to swing it wide in a moment. 

It did not move. 

He set his boot against the other wing and gave a 
second tug. 

The gate quivered, but remained fast. 


172 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


The groom scrutinized the lock. 

“It’s bolted, sir, sure enough,’’ said he, running to the 
lodge. 

The lodge door was not locked. The groom disappeared 
within, and in a moment his voice was heard shouting through 
the lodge for Jonas Ferrar, who, as Julian explained to 
Bertha, was the picturesque lodge keeper. Then came the 
sound of the banging of cupboards and table drawers, the 
upsetting of chairs and, following each such sound, a very 
barbarous oath from the groom. 

“Take the reins for a moment, Bertha,’’ said Julian, pre- 
paring to dismount. 

While his foot was on the iron stirrup the groom reap- 
peared with a key in his^hand. 

“There’s not a damned soul — I beg your pardon, sir — 
being so long without a regular master, sir, I’m a bit wild 

in my speech — not a dam Oh, the old fool is away, 

and this is the only key in the lodge, sir.’’ 

The man was already fumbling with the key at the lock. 

“That’s not the key,’’ said Julian. “What did Jonas 
mean by going off and leaving no one in charge of the lodge ? ’ ’ 

“I suppose he has got into the habit for the two years 

past, sir,’’ said the groom. “Not a sign of a d Oh, 

we’ve all got into bad habits, sir.’’ 

Julian jumped down and ran into the lodge. 

He saw in a moment that whatever chance there might 
have been originally of his laying his hand upon the key, 
there was none now. The groom had overturned everything 
in the room. Being a man, however, Mr. Charlton kicked 
about the fallen chairs and the cupboard drawers, swearing 
pretty freely all the time against the picturesque lodge 
keeper and his wife. 

The groom swore with subdued vehemence, now that his 
master had accepted this duty. The man was too well 
trained to claim an equal footing with his master in this 


ON PROVIDENCE AND THE FIEND. 173 

respect. Besides, he felt that there was no need for both of 
them to swear. It would serve all practical purposes if one 
of them did it thoroughly; and his master, soon warming to 
his work, did it very thoroughly. Being a groom, Carson 
was something of a connoisseur in swearing, but now he felt 
that Mr. Charlton was doing the work in a conscientious 
manner, leaving nothing to be desired. 

“What’s left for us, Carson? We must catch that train,” 
said Julian. 

“The only thing as I see,” said the man, “is the Grey- 
stone copses.” 

“Up with you,” said Julian, mounting to his place beside 
Bertha and taking the reins from her. 

The horse was showing a strong desire to reach the road 
by the shortest possible route, which was either through the 
locked gate or over it. The groom was compelled to go to 
his head and wheel him round. The man only succeeded 
by the exercise of great adroitness in regaining his seat 
behind, for Julian did not lose a second of time in sending 
the animal forward at a pace that made Bertha seem to be 
facing a hurricane. 

The gate at Greystone copses was a mile away. It was 
reached by a subsidiary avenue off the principal one. It so 
happened, however, that during Charlton’s absence of two 
years not more than a dozen people — nine of them poachers 
— had trodden this particular track. It was overgrown 
with weeds, so that it was with difficulty Julian was able 
to keep the dogcart off the borders. At places, too, the 
darkness made by the meeting of the branches above was 
overwhelming. 

Julian found that he remembered every turn and curve — 
of which there were many — along the course of the track. 
He had unlimited confidence in his own steering, and in the 
speed of the horse. He exchanged no word with Bertha. 
He was giving all his attention to the driving. 


174 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


The dogcart had gone with a rush into the blackness of 
darkness beneath the trees where the boughs were thickest 
with the luxuriance of May. 

“Keep your head low,” said Julian. 

She did so; and the next moment she was thrown for- 
ward out of her seat, and would have been on the horse’s 
back had it not been that the groom*managed to grasp her 
dress. 

The horse had stopped rigidly. 

Julian had been thrown out headlong, but his hands had 
come upon the right shaft and he was on his feet on the 
ground in an instant. 

“Are you safe?” he cried to Bertha, and she replied, with 
a reassuring laugh: 

“Thanks to Carson, I have not left my seat. What is 
the matter?” 

“Nothing is the matter if you are safe,” said Julian. 

“A tree, sir,” said the groom, who had gone to the horse’s 
head. “An old tree has fallen right across the path. Good 
Lord! if it had been any other horse but Porcupine we 
should all be lying in a heap just about here. Porcupine’s 
eyes are always to be trusted. Soh, Porky — soh, old 
chap ! ’ ’ 

“Can you put him on the path ahead?” asked Julian. 

“With a bit of trouble, sir,” replied the man. 

Julian lifted Bertha down to the ground in a moment. 
He could feel that she was not trembling in the least. She, 
at any rate, had unlimited belief in Providence. The groom 
backed the horse out of the darkness, and then, putting him 
on the grass, led him through the trees of the park until the 
avenue was reached once again. 

Julian had not the courage to look at his watch to see 
whether seven or nine minutes had been lost. He helped 
Bertha back to her place, and, springing beside her, gave the 
chestnut his head. 


ON PROVIDENCE AND THE FIEND. 175 

In a few minutes the gate was reached. Happily the 
lodge keeper was on the road exercising a young terrier with 
a couple of rats, to while away the tedium of a lovely summer 
evening. 

At the sound of the groom’s “Halloa!” the second wing of 
the gate was thrown open, and at last the dogcart was on 
the straight road for the station. 

The hurricane which Bertha had felt upon her face when 
driving on the avenue now became a tornado. Julian did 
not touch the horse with the whip. The animal seemed to 
know what was expected of him. He went ahead with a 
long stride and his head in the air, and Julian knew that if 
the train were only ten minutes late at Brackenhurst station 
the dogcart would be in time. 

Two miles of the road were passed when, out of the dis- 
tance of sunny woodlands, the long, shrill shriek of the engine 
sounded. 

“Go on, sir,” cried the groom. “There may be a delay 
at the station. It’s a single line and the train may have 
to tarry till another reaches Queen’s Hurst.” 

Julian did not slacken his pace. He knew that if he could 
only get close enough to the station to allow of his approach 
being noticed the train would wait for him. 

The road was not straight, however, and his approach 
could not be seen until he was within two hundred yards of 
the station. 

He gave the horse a touch with the whip. The animal 
stretched his head out and broke into a gallop sending the 
stones flying on all sides. 

The tornado that Bertha had felt on her face became a 
wild cyclone. She was breathless. 

Was it a race upon which a human life depended? 

Was it a race of the Powers of Good against the Powers 
of Evil? 

Were the mediaeval God and the devil at it again? 


176 


I FORBID THE BANNS 

If not, what did that shriek mean which sounded through 
the still air a quarter of a mile ahead of them? 

It was the shriek of the train leaving Brackenhurst 
station. 

It Was the shriek of the fiends that saw their victory 
ahead. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


ON THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE. 

J ULIAN CHARLTON threw himself back and succeeded 
after a time in checking the career of the horse. He 
turned the animal, and walked him slowly back upon the 
road. 

“ ‘What Fates impose, that may but men abide,’ ” he 
remarked to Bertha. “We are the sport of circumstance. 
Never mind; it only means that we shall go back to town 
to-morrow instead of to-day.’’ 

“There is no later train?’’ said Bertha. 

“The requirements of Brackenhurst are not many,’’ said 
he. • “No one is supposed to want to reach town later than 
8.30. My only fear is for dinner.’’ 

“Oh, dinner,’’ said she, somewhat carelessly. “A cup of 
tea is what I have set my heart on.’’ 

“With the accompaniment of a chop?’’ said Julian. “I 
have heard that no woman wants anything more bewilder- 
ingly elaborate for her dinner. That is why female clerk- 
ships have such small pay attached to them. If women 
took to beefsteaks and beer they would obtain the same pay 
as men. The authorities don’t like wasting money upon tea 
and chops.” 

It was rather remarkable that within twenty seconds of the 
arrival of the shock caused by the missing of the train he 
was opening a discussion bearing upon the question of the 
remuneration of female clerks. 

Perhaps this may have occurred to Bertha, for she mused 
in silence for a few minutes and then laughed. 


177 


178 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS' 


“I will not shrink from the best dinner that the Court 
larders can supply," said she. 

"I am uncertain about the dinner," said he; "but I know 
that the wines are to be trusted. There is not a bottle of 
red or white Burgundy that did not come out of the cellar 
of a bishop. You are always safe in buying a bishop’s Bur- 
gundy. My poor father attended every prelate’s auction in 
the country, and so succeeded in laying down a capital 
cellar. You shall taste a joy, Bertha, that has received the 
sanction of the Church." 

She laughed. 

Why was he prattling, she wondered, on subjects that 
were quite dislocated? 

"You may, perhaps, find a dean with a thorough knowledge 
of vintage clarets; but you will also find that he is Evangel- 
ical," resumed Julian. "Ritualism is the alcohol of the High 
Church ecclesiastic. He can appreciate no other stimulant. ’ ’ 

"How curious," said Bertha. "Are these facts or gener- 
alities?" 

"We shall certainly have a bottle of the true Clos Vou- 
geot," said he. "Ah, dearest, the bottled sunsets of the 
joyous land of France! I have not tasted it for years. It 
has always been the tradition at the Court that it must be 
drunk only to celebrate any notable family event. I drank a 
glass when I came of age. We shall have a bottle between 
us to-night." 

"To celebrate your losing the train?’’ said she. 

“Confound the train!" he cried. "Life is much more 
to us than catching trains." 

He touched the horse with the whip, and sent him forward 
at a brisk trot; but when the Grey stone copses were reached 
he pulled up, and dismounted. 

"We shall stroll homeward through the park," said he. 

"Nothing could be more delightful," she replied, dis- 
mounting into his arms. 


ON THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE. 179 

“Drive on to the Court, and tell Mrs. Barwell what has 
happened,” said Julian to the groom. “Tell her to do the 
best for us. We shall dine at half-past eight.” 

Carson touched his hat and rattled off when Bertha had 
quite done with the nose of the chestnut. 

The groom had come to the conclusion that if Mrs. Charl- 
ton were not carefully looked after she would soon spoil 
every horse in the stables. 

Bertha and Julian went through the gate; and then he 
led her away through a primrose path to the brink of the 
little trout stream. They seated themselves on the trunk of 
a fallen tree and listened to the marvelous music of the 
woods, mingling with the babbling of the stream. The 
water was laughing up in their faces, and they were laughing, 
too, with all their hearts, in the pure joy of living to see such 
an evening. The sun had sloped downward until the top- 
most foliage of the knoll up which they were climbing had 
become roseate. 

He looked into her face and laughed. 

“Your fair face is encircled with an aureole,” said he. 
“My saint, my saint!” 

He swung her hand that he held, and, still swinging it 
and laughing, reached the top of the knoll. 

All the park and the country for miles around might be 
seen from this height. He pointed out every spot that had 
a name, and then turned to the Court. 

A cloud of black smoke was going upward in the breath- 
less air. 

“Hurrah!” he cried. “That means dinner. You shall 
not be starved, my beloved; that I can promise you.” 

They went down the other side of the knoll, knee deep in 
primroses, bluebells, and mighty ferns. A colony of rabbits 
on a bank beside them stared at them for a few moments and 
then vanished. 

The woods resounded with the laughter of the girl and 


l8o I FORBID THE BANNS/** 

her lover. They laughed because it was the springtime, 
and the soul of the season had passed into their souls. 

Every bird of the woodland was singing this evening. 
The sound was like that of a chorus trained to interpret one 
theme — and one theme alone. 

A cuckoo was behind them and another could but faintly 
be heard in the distance, where a dark blue haze seemed to 
be spread about the trunks of the trees beneath the motion- 
less leaves. Above the cloudlike foliage of the elms the 
swallows wheeled. 

It was not until the terraces of the Court were reached that 
the rooks went cawing above them on their way to their nests. 

Bertha ran upstairs, and Julian followed, after a conversa- 
tion with the butler regarding the Clos Vougeot. 

He met the housekeeper at the head of the staircase. 

“This is a pretty state of things, Mrs. Barwell,” said he. 
“I hope we shall have some sort of a dinner.” 

“A very poor one, sir; not what I would have liked,” said 
she. “A few little things. Spring soup is the most we can 
do; trout, if you don’t mind — it should be salmon — and a 
lamb cutlet with peas, and an omelet: a poor home-coming 
dinner. Master Julian.” 

“It will do admirably,” said he. “And now, what room 
can I go to, to dip my face in water?” 

“What room, sir?” 

“Yes. I suppose Miss — us Charlton is in the pink room.” 

“She is there, sir; but you will find an extra basin in the 
dressing room” — and the housekeeper went to the door of 
the bedroom. 

“No, no,” said Julian quickly. “I — ah — do you mean 
to say that there is only the one room fit for a person to go 
to, Mrs. Barwell?” 

“Why, of course, sir, there’s only the one. I asked you 
about getting ready the other rooms, you may remember, sir, 
and you said that nothing was to be done yet awhile. When 
you telegraphed yesterday I got the pink room made a bit 


ON THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE. i8l 

more presentable than when you were here last. I hope it 
will do.” 

“Oh, of course, of course,” said he. “I’ll just go to the 
end of the corridor now and have a look at the boudoir for 
fear I should forget it. I cannot understand how the painted 
festoons on the ceiling should be fading over the fireplace. 
No, no, you needn’t come with me, Mrs. Barwell.” He 
went quickly along the corridor and entered the oval room 
which his mother had furnished for her boudoir. But when 
he found himself standing on the parquet he did not con- 
centrate his attention upon the festoons which an Italian art- 
ist had painted on the ceiling; he stood silent — one hand still 
upon the handle of the door. Silent? No; he could hear 
his heart beating tumultuously. The thoughts that came to 
him overwhelmed him with their force; and yet all these 
thoughts had been suggested by the commonplace look upon 
the face of the old housekeeper, as she referred to the dor- 
mitory arrangements which she had been thoughtful enough 
to make, and by the mechanical way in which she had gone 
to open the door of the bedroom where Bertha was getting 
ready for dinner. 

There had been neither smile nor smirk upon the woman’s 
face. She had gone to open the door as she would have gone 
about the discharge of the most ordinary of her duties. 

Great Heavens! 

And here he was with his heart beating so that he could 
count every beat, and his hand trembling so that the handle 
of the door shook beneath his hold. 

It was the awful assumption on the part of the house- 
keeper that the situation of the moment was one of the most 
ordinary in life that overwhelmed him. 

If she had even smirked, it would not have seemed so 
appalling. But she gave not the smallest suggestion that 
the situation contained the elements of anything beyond 
what was commonplace. 

He waited with the door slightly ajar, until he heard the 


i 82 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS H* 


door of the room where Bertha was brushing her hair open, 
and the light tap of her shoes upon the oak staircase. Then 
he left the boudoir — faded festoons and all — and actually 
stole along the corridor to the pink room, opening the door 
as cautiously as though he were a burglar uncertain of the 
soundness of the inmates’ sleep beyond the door. 

The apartment seemed pervaded with her presence. He 
had read of the Blessed Damozel whose breast, leaning 
against a gold bar, had made the metal warm. He thought 
of it as he stood in the center of this room, feeling the gra- 
cious warmth of her presence in everything around him. He 
felt that if he had come suddenly into the room, not know- 
ing that she had been here, he would have known in a 
moment that she had just departed. 

And it was to this room that the housekeeper was about to 
give him access quite unconcernedly! 

He went to the dressing table and lifted the brush that 
she had been using. Surely the. ivory — that most unsuscep- 
tible of materials — was warm from her hand. It cast a deli- 
cate scent like that of a peach around the room. Her grace- 
ful summer wrap — a triumph of the art of that ingenious 
French artiste, Mme. John Smith of Regent Street — lay upon 
the mahogany Cupid which was carved upon one of the low 
posts of the bed. A little chubby arm projected beyond the 
quilted satin lining. It seemed to belong to the garment, 
this half-concealed Love. He put his hand under the cloak 
and touched the body of the Cupid. Beyond doubt the 
mahogany was warm. The warmth that had come to her 
mantle from her shoulders had warmed this little chubby 
Cupid into life. His Blessed Damozel had made h^r influ- 
ence felt upon everything in the apartment. 

The gong sounded in the hall below. 

He hastened to dress, and to descend to the drawing room. 

She was standing at one of the open French windows, the 
exquisite glow of the soft summer twilight around her. 


Oisr THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE. 183 

“I asked the butler not to light the candles,” said she. 
‘‘This lovely light is too sweet to be shut out.” 

She pointed to the west. 

Above the dark trees of the park the sky was blue as a 
transparent turquoise. In the narrow spaces between tree 
trunks and the lower drooping boughs the mellow crimson 
faded into shell-pink, and about the topmost leaves a few 
light clouds floated: they were permeated with gold. High 
in the west the evening star was hanging like a lamp. 

‘‘And we shall hear the nightingale to-night,” said the 
girl in a rapt voice, that was scarcely a whisper. 

‘‘We shall hear the nightingale to-night,” he repeated. 
‘‘We shall hear the nightingale singing beneath that star — 
the star of love — our star, dearest — our star.” 

‘‘Our star,” she repeated. 

They actually believed that they had a joint proprietary 
in the evening star. 

The Lord made the sun to rule the day, and the moon to 
rule the night, and the evening star for Julian Charlton and 
Bertha Lancaster. 

‘‘The nightingale sings to the roses,” said he. ‘‘The 
evening is full of the perfume of roses, dearest. What shall 
be for us to-night? The song of the nightingale, the perfume 
of roses, and the glow of the star of love over all.” 

She kept her eyes fixed upon the west. 

Through the silence that followed he could hear the beat- 
ing of a heart. 

He knew that it was not his own. 

When the gong sounded again he brought her into the 
dining room, and filled up her glass with the glorious red 
wine, that sparkled beneath the light of the candles in their 
silver sconces. 

It was an hour and a half before they returned to the draw- 
ing room. The Venetian glass chandeliers were listening 
with their many candles. Bertha seated herself at the piano- 


184 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!'' 


forte. It was a fine instrument, and it had been kept in 
tune during Julian’s wanderings by the organist of the 
church, who had been accustomed to play upon it. 

Only one song did she sing, and that only in a hushed 
voice. It was so good a setting of Swinburne’s lines that 
no publisher would undertake the risk of publishing it. 
There was a passion in the music, the publishers said, and 
passion was not for the drawing room. 

“ In the lower lands of day — 

On the hither side of night — 

There is nothing that will stay, 

There are all things soft to sight, 

Lighted shade and shadowy light. 

In the wayside and the way 
Flowers the rain has left to play. 

Hours the sun has spared to smite. 

“ Shall these hours run down and say 
No good word of me and thee? 

Time that made us and will slay. 

Laughs at Love in me and thee. 

But if here the flowers will see 
One whole hour of amorous breath. 

Time shall die and Love shall be 
Lord, as Time was, over Death \ " 

She sang in a passionate whisper — that whisper of passion 
that pervades the words — the most subtle ever written by 
the hand of man. A poet had written them, a poet had set 
them to music, and a woman was singing them to her lover. 

Her voice was the vocal expression of an Italian twilight. 
But when the low tones of the melody changed into a song 
that became a song of triumph with the words, “Love shall 
be Lord! Love shall be Lord! Love shall be Lord,’’ the 
room was filled with the paean. 

Before the last notes had passed away she was in his arms. 

That was what the poet meant — that was the legitimate 
end of the song. 


ON THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE. 185 

They went together out into the night. 

The air was luscious with the scent of the roses. The 
light from that great lamp of love in the heaven was glisten- 
ing upon the large diamond drops of dew in the hearts of 
the roses. 

The air made the lovers joyous. 

“Oh, faithless nightingale!” she cried. “The world is 
silent — the world is breathless, waiting for your song. Sweet 
bulbul, every rose in the gardens of Gul is waiting in tears 
for her lover ! Sweet nightingale ! I have waited all my life 
to hear your song that I may know if its interpretation is 
love, and yet you will not pity us.” 

Her light laughter rang down the glades, but there was no 
response to her prayer. 

“And I thought that the nightingale was the most faithful 
of nature’s singers,” she continued. 

“It will sing yet,” said he. “Why should it come last 
night, and not to-night — this night of nights?” 

They wandered down the terraces, and drank more of the 
intoxicating perfume of the rose beds. 

Suddenly from the shrubbery there burst forth a strain of 
passionate melody that thrilled the silence of the night — 
that flooded the night with music as the heaven is flooded 
with moonlight when the moon is at its full. 

“Bertha, can you interpret it?” he whispered. “My 
beloved, do you know what is the realization of the song of 
the nightingale? My beloved, does your heart not tell you?” 

She was clinging to him. His face was looking down on 
hers. The light of the great star shone upon the tears within 
her eyes. He saw her lips part as if to speak, but only a 
little sob came from her throat. 

“My beloved, our hearts to the nightingale’s song are 
attuned,” he whispered. “What is the song that is in 
your heart, darling? What is the song that is in your 
heart?” 


“/ FORBID THE BA HNS f 


1 86 

“Love, love, love,” she sobbed. ‘‘You will always love 
me, dearest, as you do now?” 

‘‘Always, always, my love — it is my life — it is my life; 
when my love parts from me my life is at an end. ” 

‘‘I know it,” she said. “I know what they mean — the 
song of the nightingale, the scent of the roses, the glory of 
that star. My heart has drank from the same fountain that 
has given them life.” 

Their faces were together, but only for an instant. 

He found himself standing alone, looking into the soft 
blue of the night. 

How did he come to be alone? He returned to the draw- 
ing room. 

She was not there. 

And the nightingale’s passionate song went on through 
that glorious night, and the star of love still reigned supreme 
in the high heaven, and the roses filled the air with their 
luscious scent. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


ON THE TYPE OF THE FAITHFUL. 

M r. and MRS. CHARLTON were away in the depths 
of the woodland glades when they should have been 
sitting at their breakfast. 

This was the more remarkable, the butler told Mrs. Bar- 
well, as they had plainly not retired until a very late hour, 
for he had found all the candles in the chandeliers in the 
drawing room burnt down to the very sockets. It seemed 
to him that they had only retired when the candles had actu- 
ally been burnt out. 

He earnestly hoped that Mrs. Charlton was not one of 
those ladies who are given to late hours not only in town, 
where it is quite natural, but in the country also, where it 
has a bad effect upon the maidservants. 

Mrs. Barwell had a plausible theory to account for madam’s 
liking for late hours. It was founded upon her acquaintance 
with the fact that when it is night in England it is day in 
Australia — she had heard this from a trustworthy authority, 
she assured the incredulous butler — and therefore it stood 
to reason that, as Mrs. Charlton had been accustomed all 
her life to spend the night time in the broad daylight, it was 
only natural that it would take her some little time to adapt 
herself to a country where, owing to the blessing of Provi- 
dence, nights were nights. 

When, however, Mrs. Charlton returned with a bright and 
rosy face, which she buried among her primroses — just as 
though she were a young maiden hiding her blushes, as the 
housekeeper afterward remarked — she did not suggest the 

187 


i88 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!" 


appearance of one who had remained in the candlelight until 
a late hour. 

She hastened to place her primroses in a great Worcester 
bowl on the breakfast table. 

The head gardener, who had watched her walking with her 
armful of primroses among the beds, which, through his 
extraordinary diligence and careful application of bell glasses, 
were blooming a month before their time with what he called 
the genuine article, as opposed to the primroses which were 
no roses at all in his estimation, did not think very much of 
the young madam’s judgment in flowers. She gave not a 
second thought to the real rose beds, he believed. 

Had he but known! 

The morning ramble of Mr. and Mrs. Charlton represented 
all their rambling for the day. 

Mr. Charlton explained to the housekeeper that Mrs. 
Charlton had been so pleased with the Court and with the 
kindness of everyone in the house, and especially with the 
charming little dinner which had been prepared for her under 
such exceptionally difficult circumstances, she had resolved 
to remain for some time in the country instead of returning 
to town for the remaining festivities. 

Mrs. Barwell was delighted, she said. The cook was glad 
to be off board wages again, and the maids were to be 
depended on; but what about the footmen? 

Mr. Charlton said he would see about the footmen the first 
time he took a run up to town. Meantime, as he was sending 
a groom to the telegraph office at Brackenhurst, Mrs. Barwell 
had better telegraph her orders for fish and ice, and those 
other trifles which make life at a country house endurable. 

The telegram which Mr. Charlton dispatched by the 
groom was one to the maid Miriam, desiring her to forward 
the three Saratoga trunks with their contents, which belonged 
to Miss Lancaster, by train to Brackenhurst, addressed to 
Mrs. Charlton, The Court. 


ON THE TYPE OF THE FAITHFUL. 189 

Having done so much after breakfast, Mr. Charlton took 
a book out of the library. Mrs. Charlton took another. 
They seated themselves on a very easy garden chair and 
began to read. 

The nook where they sat was in the shade at this time; 
but the sun moved round the house, and the oblique shadows 
cast by the walls became shorter and shorter until at last the 
seat which had been sheltered was full in the glare of the 
sun. But the two readers who sat there paid no attention 
whatever to the change brought about by the diurnal 'motion 
of the earth. The gong sounded for lunch, but they did 
not stir. The butler knew something of the fascinations of 
literature — he subscribed to Tit-Bits — but he became sur- 
prised when neither his master nor mistress appeared at the 
window of the dining room. He put on a straw hat and 
went in search of them. 

He found them sitting, one at either end of the garden 
seat, sleeping soundly among their countless cushions. 

(He subsequently assured the housekeeper that Mr. and 
Mrs. Charlton had got up quite too early in the morning, 
and the housekeeper said, “Oh!”) 

When the butler had kicked about the gravel and coughed 
with severity, and then apologized, hastening back to the 
porch, Julian rubbed his 6yes and looked at Bertha. 

“I suppose it was the warmth and the silence and the 
general feeling of completeness that sent our souls into the 
intermediate world,” said he. 

He put out his hand to her. She put her left hand into 
his. He caressed it for a moment, and then suddenly 
dropped it with an exclamation that startled her. 

“What is the matter, dearest?” she cried. “Have you 
read my line of life? Is it so very terrible?” 

“Great Heavens!” he cried. “Look at your hand — the 
hand of a wife.” 

She looked at her fingers. They were very pretty — white 


1 90 ** I FORBID THE BANNS r* 

and taper. But they were encircled by no ring ! She gave 
a little start and flushed. 

“Pray Heaven that it was not noticed,” he whispered. 
“If Mrs. Barwell has eyes at all she will have seen it. We 
shall soon know : she will give a month’s notice to-morrow, if 
not this evening.” 

“She would not live in the house with a wife who does 
not carry about with her the outward and visible sign of the 
Church’s bond of slavery?’’ 

“It would be a reflection upon her character — she lays 
the accent on the second syllable — to suggest that she would 
do so,” said he. “Come up with me and I will provide 
you with the — what do you call it — the token of slavery?” 

He was afraid that she would decline. It might not be 
in accordance with her principles to wear a ring. She was 
so severely strict when it came to any question of conven- 
tionality in regard to marriage. 

Only for a moment after he had spoken did she look at 
her fingers; then she gave a little. laugh, as if she had come 
to the conclusion in her own mind that it was no treachery 
to her principles to humor him in so trifling a matter. 

They went upstairs together, and out of a safe concealed 
behind a panel in the wall he brought a jewel case. It con- 
tained a number of loose trinkets in gold and silver, nearly 
all of Oriental manufacture. A dozen rings lay before her, 
several without gems. 

“My mother’s jewels are kept at my bankers for fear of 
accidents,” said he. “These are trifles collected in the 
course of my travels. Are they all too large for you?” 

“This is the only one that fits,” she replied, holding up 
her left hand with a broad circle of yellow gold on the third 
finger — she seemed to know the right finger on which to put 
the emblem. 

“It is a Persian ring,” said he. “It is engraved with a 
motto from the Koran on the inner part. It refers to the 


ON THE TYPE OF THE FAITHFUL. 191 

symbol of the circle. I got it translated for the benefit of 
such ignoramuses as myself who cannot at a moment’s notice 
read off a text from the Koran. It means: ‘Without begin- 
ning — without end — earthly completeness — a type of the 
faithful.’ I bought it from one of the faithful at Teheran. 
I also detected that one of the faithful using false balances 
in weighing it. Here, I place it upon your finger; are you 
sure that is the right one?” 

‘‘Do you fancy there is a civilized girl who doesn’t know 
which is her wedding finger, as they call it?” cried Bertha, 
offering him a dainty digit, delicately white, with a pink, 
almond shaped tip. 

‘‘I suppose there is no such girl,” said he musingly, with 
his eyes fixed upon the Arabic characters on the inner rim 
of the ring. ‘‘I suppose not; only I thought that you ” 

‘‘Why should I be different from other girls?” she said. 
‘‘I am daily coming to learn that I am in no way different 
from any of the race. I may have thought at one time that 
we had little in common ; but now — with the exception of 
that one prejudice — I am in no way different from other 
girls.” 

‘‘And that one prejudice,” said he, “is what other girls 
hold dearer than their religion — dearer than love itself — 
almost as dear as — let us say diamonds.” 

“That is where — thank God — I differ from them,” cried 
the girl. “You heard what I sang last night. ‘Love, shall 
be Lord — Love shall be Lord — Love shall be Lord!’ With 
other girls the words should be, ‘Marriage is Lord’ — perhaps 
‘Diamonds are Lord.’ Ah, if women were but faithful to 
their own hearts what a world of joy it would be! Perhaps 
you and I shall live to see that great good brought about. 
We shall yet live to see the false gods dethroned — that Baal 
of society lying in the dust. Women have been too long 
worshiping the form of marriage, and taking no thought 
for the reality, which is love. Let them take to worship- 


192 


**/ FORBID THE BANNS 


ing love and all will be well. If it be love in very deed it 
will remain part of their lives forever, just as it is all our 
life now, my beloved — it will not require the bond woven 
by the priest to keep it fast to their lives. That love which 
needs to be bound with fetters to the life which a man and a 
woman lead together as husband and wife is not love at all, 
but something quite different from love.” 

“My dearest,” said he, “there was a time when I did not 
agree with you, but now your thoughts are my thoughts. 
Yes, ‘Love shall be Lord — Love shall be Lord — Love shall 
be Lord ! ’ Your finger — quick ! I place upon it this mystic 
symbol of that which is without beginning — without end — a 
symbol of love’s completeness — a type of the faithful. My 
love, you are faithful, not merely unto death, but unto some- 
thing which is stronger than death — faithful unto love.” 

He slipped the yellow circle on her finger and put his ar ns 
a^bout her. 

They were considerably late for lunch. 

It was a great descent from the heights of the psychology 
of love to the plains of plain cookery. 

The butler was severe in his demeanor toward them. He 
served them with an air of Christian resignation, which is 
the most exasperating attitude on earth. 

The cook did not possess the exasperating virtue of Chris- 
tian resignation. She was loud. 

The housekeeper raised her hands and declared that she 
was greatly surprised at the want of consideration displayed 
by Mr. and Mrs. Charlton. If they had been on their 
honeymoon there might, she admitted, be some excuse for 
them; but having been married some months, as she had 
good reasons for assuming they were, she felt bound to say 
— though she frankly allowed that it went to her heart to do 
so — that they were a couple of young fools. 

It was only when Mrs. Charlton confided in the house- 
keeper that she was becoming extremely anxious about her 


ON THE TYPE OF THE FAITHFUL. 


193 


Saratoga trunks, which had not yet come to hand, that Mrs. 
Barwell regained her composure, and was led to form a 
higher estimate of the young lady’s capacity. 

The young lady who was sincerely anxious about the 
arrival of Saratoga trunks could not be altogether in a 
pitable condition. 

That night the nightingale sang again. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


ON VARIETY IN LACE. 

''pHE anxiety which Mrs. Charlton had displayed regard- 
1 ing her trunks was not to end the next day. A groom 
met the trains at Brackenhurst station, but though they con- 
tained much that was valuable and interesting consigned to 
the Court from London tradesmen, yet the goods’ van con- 
tained no trunk addressed to Mrs. Charlton. 

In the afternoon a second telegram was sent to Miriam; 
and Bertha resolved that if the trunks did not arrive on the 
next day she would go to London for them in person. It 
was all very well at an Australian station, where civilization 
was only holding its own by the aid of a stock whip, to live 
apart from the luxuries of tea gowns, of white velvet 
smothered in old Mechlin lace, and of dinner dresses of pink 
silk embroidered with pearls — these were not absolute neces- 
sities in the bush; but it was a very different thing when one 
came to associate with Romneys, and Sir Joshuas, and Sir 
Peters. One could not appear in the presence of so many 
scrutinizing eyes of people who knew so well what it was 
to be well dressed, unless one looked one’s best. She felt 
herself constantly apologizing for her one dress to these 
coldly critical ladies — she did not mind their husbands in 
the least; she was not so sure that a man knew all about the 
art of dressing. She had heard the remarks of men occa- 
sionally on the subject of a woman’s dress, and they dis- 
played an amount of ignorance that was most discouraging 
to a girl. Bertha was clever enough to know that women 
do not dress for the eyes of men, but for the eyes of 
women. 


194 


ON VARIETY IN LACE. 


195 


While she was making up her mind to go to town by the 
afternoon train, Charlton’s man of business called at the 
Court, and carried him away to his office at Brackenhurst to 
decide some of those intricate points in regard to leases, 
which cause the intellect of a country gentleman to be per- 
petually brilliant. The human intellect is bound to corus- 
cate around the clauses in a lease as the lightning plays 
around the platinum tips of a lightning conductor. 

Julian was absent for two hours, and when he drove back 
and pulled up at the porch he had sarcely time to give the 
reins to the groom before he was aware that Bertha had 
run out from the drawing room to the hall to meet him, and 
that she was wearing her white velvet tea gown smothered in 
lace, as the white moon is occasionally smothered in fleecy 
clouds. 

He joined in her laugh of triumph. 

“At last, at last!’’^he cried. 

“At last, at last you are returned,” she responded. 

“I meant the trunks,” said he — “the things.” 

“The things are here all right. And I have a surprise for 
you. They did not come alone.” 

“All surprises are disappointments unless one is prepared 
for them. What is it.?” 

“It is not //, it is he."' 

“He? Who is he?” 

He had taken off his gloves and hat, and was about to 
open the door of the drawing room when he heard a loud, 
honest laugh in the direction of the dining room door. He 
turned. He had heard that honest laugh before. It came 
from Eric Vicars, who was standing at the open door of the 
dining room, his large frank features glowing through the 
shadow, as a Japanese lantern glows by day. 

It took Charlton some time to remember that he was in his 
own house. 

“Here I am, as large as life,^’ cried Eric, flinging out his 


196 


*‘/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


hand to Julian as though he were shaking some drops of 
water from his fingers. 

“How do you do?” said Julian. “Have you come from 
town? I hope you have had something to eat?” 

He had discharged all the duties of an English host in 
regard to a visitor. He felt that he had nothing to reproach 
himself with. 

“I’ve had a regular feed, my boy,” cried Eric, “Bertha 
tells me that I should have come in time for tiffen; so I 
should, but that I missed the train — went into the refresh- 
ment room with a decent fellow I met in the ’bus, and the 
train didn’t wait for us. We did all the waiting — for the 
next. No harm done, though I’ve played old Harry with 
your cold lamb and those pretty round things without much 
eating in them — what did you call them, Bertha?” 

“Croquettes,” said Bertha. “Never mind. It was so 
good-natured of Eric; wasn’t it, Julian? He was afraid 
that the trunks might go astray, so he took charge of them 
himself. It appears that Miriam left Chelsea with all her 
belongings two days ago, but Eric wisely opened the tele- 
grams addressed to her, and — well, you have never seen this 
tea gown. The velvet is smothered ” 

“Yes,” said Julian. He was wishing with all his heart 
that the fate which had befallen the velvet might overtake 
his guest. “We should be greatly obliged to Mr. Vicars for 
his trouble.” 

“Don’t say a word about that, my boy,” cried Mr. Vicars. 
“If I wouldn’t take some trouble for Bertha, who would? 
Just tell me that. Why, her and me are the oldest of 
chums. Many a time I have set her on horseback, when 
her little legs could hardly touch the stirrups, though the 
buckle was in the farthest hole of the leather. And when I 
saw what name was in the telegram, ‘Eric,’ says I, ‘if you’re 
not the first to congratulate that young bride, you’ll deserve 
to be kicked.’ Well, my lass, didn’t I do the thing properly?” 


ON VARIETY W LACE. 197 

He clapped Bertha in a good-natured familiar way on the 
shoulder, and Bertha actually laughed. 

Julian Charlton did not laugh. When a man’s blood has 
been rapidly increasing in temperature until at last it reaches 
boiling point he does not, as a rule, laugh. 

“Poor old Eric!” said Bertha. “His heart is certainly 
in the right place. Was it not good-natured of him, Julian?’ ’ 

“It was — very good-natured of him,” replied Julian 
quietly. “Very” was not, however, the word with which, 
in his mind, he qualified the good nature of this man. “We 
cannot stand here for the rest of the afternoon,” he con- 
tinued, opening the drawing room door. “You had better 
walk inside, Mr. Vicars.” 

“It’s a big room,” said Mr. Vicars. “I don’t suppose 
the smell of a tobacco pipe would be much felt where the 
ceiling is so high. I’m accustomed to a pipe after meals, 
and I’ve had a pretty square meal just now, though the 
what’s-their-names are more dainty than satisfying to a born 
bush man like I am.” 

“Don’t think of such a thing, you big boy,” said Bertha. 
“A tobacco pipe in a Louis Seize drawing room!” 

“Perhaps you might be interested in the stables, Mr. 
Vicars,” remarked Julian in frigid tones that suggested the 
most cordial inhospitality. “There are only a few horses 
now, to be sure, but ” 

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Bertha,” said the ex-overseer: 
“you just run and throw on a hat or something, and the two 
of us will stroll around this run. I want to have a yarn with 
you about old times. That’s my programme.” 

Julian Charlton turned away and tapped the barometer 
that hung beside him. Curiously enough, the index showed 
no sign of running down to “stormy.” 

“How could you expect me to go roaming with a bush- 
man such as you are, in such a costume as this?” 

“I saw the day, my fine lady,” shouted Eric in that fine, 


198 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


hearty, honest voice of his — “I saw the day when you didn't 
take much thought for your furbelows and flounces — when 
you were offering your big Eric a kiss for a ride on his saddle 
behind him.” 

“For God’s sake,” said Charlton, “let us either go into 
the drawing room or into the billiard room. We cannot 
remain here all day.” 

Bertha was startled by the tone of his voice; she had not 
heard him speak in that tone since — she could not immedi- 
ately recollect when he had heard it, but in a few moments 
she remembered. He had spoken in that tone when he had 
gone to her to say that he had accepted her principles. 
The steamer had been brought into dock, and Eric had just 
met her. 

‘‘Let us all go into the billiard room,” said she, leading 
the way across the hall. 

“Anywhere that I can smoke my pipe, and have a chat 
with you, my fine lady, will do for your humble servant,” 
said Eric. 

“And now,” said Bertha, getting beside Julian, ‘‘I want 
you duly to admire my gown. It is my own idea, not Mme. 
John Smith’s.” 

“Qh, come, I say, if you two haven’t got over your spoon- 
ing just say so, and I’ll make myself scarce,” cried Eric. 

He spoke in his usual boyish style; but Julian Charlton, 
who had lived some time among men in various parts of the 
world, failed to perceive any corresponding expression of 
frankness in the man’s eyes — at least not just at that moment. 
Charlton perceived in the man’s eyes the visible sign of what 
was in his, Charlton’s, own heart at that moment. He read 
his own secret in this man’s eyes. Jealousy was in their 
glance — jealousy was burning in his own heart. The man 
had not got a sufficiently thick mask of civilization to con- 
ceal what he felt. Charlton had. 

Amazed though he was with his discovery he made no sign. 


ON VARIETY IN LACE. 


199 


“I think your gown beyond comparison the most charming 
I have ever seen,” he replied to Bertha. “The lace is Mech- 
lin, is. it not? I always admired it infinitely more than 
Spanish or even Venetian.” 

“If I am in the way, just say so,” remarked Eric. 

“One looks for freedom from conventional types in Vene- 
tian lace,” said Julian, “but one rarely gets it. Now in 
Mechlin — I refer of course only to the best examples — one 
finds unlimited imagination; it is nearly always unrestrained, 
and yet it is invariably graceful and appropriate.” 

“I am so pleased that you like this,” said Bertha. “I felt 
quite sure of it myself; but my education is, alas, only 
beginning.” 

“We have chests full of various types in some of the 
rooms upstairs,” said Julian. “Pray remember that they 
are all yours.” 

Mr. Eric Vicars felt that he was being quietly shunted, 
even by the young woman whom he had taught to sit on a 
pony and to crack a stock whip. What a hand that fellow 
who was now talking like a girl on lace and gowns and rubbish 
of that sort, would make at governing a buck-jumper ! What 
a fool of himself and of everybody within range of him he 
would make if he were to try to crack a stock whip! Rid- 
ing buck-jumpers and cracking stock whips — these were the 
points that showed what a man was made of. But when these 
were supplemented by a knowledge of branding which was 
practically inexhaustible, and by an acquaintance with the 
most approved methods of shearing sheep, and by an unerr- 
ing judgment as to the treatment of rams at certain seasons, 
they put a man on a level with the ancient gods. 

Long ago Bertha Lancaster had shown an appreciation of 
such splendid intellectual endowments — ram selecting is 
clearly an endowment, though stock whip cracking may be 
in some measure an acquirement; but since her father had 
been foolish enough to engage for her at Sydney quite an 


200 


“/ FORBID THE BA HNS/ 


army of governesses and professors — first-rate people for 
playing good hearty, practical Jokes upon — she had steadily 
degenerated, until she had now reached that low level upon 
which lace and such like fal-lals were found useful as topics 
of conversation. 

As for the man who could talk of lace seriously, he was, 
Mr. Vicars thought, beneath contempt. He should be 
treated as one treats a child or a clergyman. One does not 
take children or clergymen seriously; and it would be ridic- 
ulous to do more than smile at Mr. Charlton in that pitying 
way which is inseparable from patronage. 

But though Eric Vicars made up his mind to smile in his 
most aggravatingly good-natured way upon Mr. Charlton’s 
remarks upon haberdashery, yet he did not do so. There 
was a cold, irresponsive look in Mr. Charlton’s eyes that 
made smiling extremely difficult. Eric even found that 
warmth of language and that heartiness of manner which 
were his leading characteristics wanting as he filled his pipe 
^opposite Mr. Charlton in the billiard room. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


ON WHITE VELVET. 

I T’S a rum sort of world this,” remarked the ex-overseer 
after a considerable pause. “Who would have thought a 
few years ago when we were romping together — as free and 
easy pals in the bush — that you would ever bloom out into 
such a fine lady with an old English mansion like this at 
your back? Why, when I caught a sight of this house from 
a turn in the avenue I began to whistle ‘The Jolly Roast 
Beef of Old England’ — I did, upon my soul. But do you 
think I was took aback at the sight of the place? Not me. 

‘I may be a bit rough,’ says I ” 

“Oh, no,” said Mr. Charlton. “Not a bit — a bit is not 
the word. You do yourself an injustice.” 

“I feel that I’m a bit rough — it’s true, Mr. Charlton,” 
continued Eric, shaking his head in that deprecating way 
assumed by people who make it do duty for a number of 
unexposed virtues. ‘‘But if I’m a bit rough” — here he 
perceived that his host was smiling very gently — he wondered 
if it was on record that a guest had ever kicked his host over 
a full sized billiard-table — ‘‘if I’m a bit rough, my heart’s 
in the right place, sir; let me tell you that.” 

He was very vehement — so much so that in slapping his 
knee he swallowed a mouthful of smoke and began to cough 
with a breadth and feeling that could only be sustained by 
a person whose heart was perfectly sound, both as regards 
constitution and situation. 

‘‘Why, what on earth is the matter with you, Eric?” cried 
Bertha, when his face had become less purple. ‘ ‘ What made 


201 


202 


I FORBID THE BANNS! 


you take so much pains to convince us that your heart is in 
the right place? No one could ever doubt it.” 

‘‘No one, indeed,” said Julian quite pleasantly. 

‘‘If any man doubts it,” said Eric, ‘‘he had best look out 
for himself. I may be rough ■” 

‘‘No, no — not may be,” whispered Julianas if conversing 
with himself. 

‘‘But I stand no damned nonsense,” continued the ex- 
overseer, bringing his fist down upon his knee with a force 
that showed that his soundness was not confined to his heart. 

Julian turned his eyes upon Bertha with something of an 
inquiry in them. He seemed to be asking her if, as an old 
acquaintance of this man’s, she had ever witnessed such 
singular manifestations on his part, and if they were usually 
long of duration. 

Bertha flushed, and Julian’s face became white. 

“Eric,” said Bertha, ‘‘I am ashamed of you. You have no 
reason to make use of such strong language. Pray remem- 
ber that you are not in the stockyard now.” 

‘‘I wish I was,” said he thoughtfully. ‘‘Why did we ever 
leave it, you and me, Bertha?” 

‘‘Look here, my man,” said Julian Charlton; ‘‘don’t you 
think we’ve had about enough stockyard reminiscences and 
stockyard language to last us until train time?” 

‘‘Until train time? You mean to turn me out of the 
house?” cried Eric, starting to his feet. “Is this your 
boasted British hospitality?” 

‘‘Come, Eric, don’t make a big fool of yourself,” said 
Bertha in a soothing voice, taking his hand. At the action 
Julian’s face became whiter. 

‘‘I’m not making a fool of myself,” shouted Eric. ‘‘It’s 
you that brought me down here to make a fool of me, and 
I’ll not stand it — no, I’m ” 

‘‘It was very good of you to bring me the trunks,” said 
she. It was clear that she estimated this service a good 


ON WHITE VELVET, 


203 


deal higher than Julian did. “Indeed it was very good of 
you.” 

“That goes for nothing nowadays, it appears, in your so- 
called British Islands,” sneered Eric. 

“So-called fiddlesticks!” said Bertha. “Sit down and 
behave properly, you foolish fellow!” 

“No,” cried Eric indignantly. “I see that you are 
changed from what you used to be. I’m not welcome to 
Bertha the fine lady, as I used to be to Bertha the squatter’s 
lass. I may be over-touchy in such matters — I can’t help 
it — it’s my nature — I’m not one of your fine artificial gentle- 
men that hide their feelings — I say what I mean, and what 
I say comes from my heart — there’s no mistake about my 
heart. Good-by, Bertha; it goes to my heart to say the 
words — but they must be said. I’ll never darken your door 
again.” 

He drew his sleeve across his eyes — it is a way these fine, 
warm-hearted, over-sensitive fellows have. Their eyes are 
their weak point. 

“There is a train in an hour and a half,” remarked Julian 
in the coolest way possible. “The dogcart will be at the 
door immediately. I suppose you have a good deal of busi- 
ness to get through in the city. Most colonial merchants 
find their time fully occupied.” 

“I don’t want any dogcart,” cried Eric. “Keep your 
dog-cart for — for — puppies.” 

He roared with laughter. He had clearly scored a point 
by his readiness in retort. 

“After all, I dare say you are right to walk,” said Charl- 
ton quietly. ‘ ‘A few miles on a fair road cannot be thought 
anything by a — a — colonial — gentleman who does not suffer 
from any cardiac complaint.” 

•“Good-by,” said Bertha. “Poor old Eric! It was so 
good of you to bring me my trunks.” 

“I saw the day — but never mind,” said Eric. “Good- 


204 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


by — good-by to you, sir” — he turned to Julian — “I bear you 
no malice. It shall never be said that Eric Vicars bore 
malice against the man of your choice, Bertha. Maybe the 
day will come when you will hurry to the side of your poor 
old Eric. I don’t want to be a prophet of misfortune, but 
you may come to me yet. Those are the farewell words of 
Eric Vicars.” 

“Good-by,” said Julian, about to lead the way to the hall 
door with the politeness of the most hospitable host. But 
his visitor did not permit him to carry out his intention. 
The door chanced to be open, and Eric, after catching up 
his hat and stick, which lay on an oak table beside the porch, 
stalked out of the hall, leaving his host quite ten feet 
behind. 

Julian went on to the door and closed it. He knew 
that his visitor would not have gone so far down the 
avenue as to be unable to hear the sound of the door 
closing. 

“Poor Eric seems to have become very sensitive,” said 
Bertha, when Julian returned and met her in the center of 
the hall. ‘ ‘But it really was kind of him to take charge of my 
trunks down here.” 

“I must say,” said Julian, “that for one who affects to 
know nothing of lace, you have been extremely happy in 
your choice — those bits on the sleeves are of the rarest 
design.” 

“This is the gown that I was longing for,” said Bertha. 
“It is all my own. Mme. John Smith of Regent Street 
wanted me to have the white velvet of the sleeves slashed 
with some colored material. She said it would be Floren- 
tine. I held out against any color whatever. Was I 
right?” 

“There cannot be a doubt on the matter,” said he. “The 
white velvet is your white soul.” 

“Smothered in lace,” laughed the girl. 


ON WHITE VELVET. 205 

“White soul smothered in lace — that sounds like a cookery 
recipe,” said he. 

The , hall rang with laughter; but when Julian Charlton 
had gone to the library, saying that he wanted to hunt up a 
lease, there was no sound of laughter either in that apartment 
or in the drawing room, where Bertha had gone to wait for 
him. 

The girl stood at a window watching ope of the under 
gardeners working the lawn mower. Pain was at her heart. 
She knew that Eric had behaved badly; he had been even 
more than usually rough — that is to say, he had spoken 
from a deeper depth of his heart than usual. But he had 
conveyed to her the precious trunks, and surely a man who 
brings to a woman three Saratoga trunks packed with such 
articles of attire and adornment as she has been longing for 
during a space of three days, might be excused for taking cer- 
tain liberties of speech. Eric Vicars was her oldest friend. 
He had taken care to remind her of this fact more than once 
in the presence of Charlton; and it seemed to her that, at 
each reference to her previous acquaintance with the man, 
Julian had become whiter in the face, until at last he had 
almost insulted his guest. 

She was pained that Julian should have been so annoyed 
by any friend of hers, and she was pained that any friend of 
hers should be almost insulted by Julian, especially as this 
friend had conveyed to her some trunks of importance. She 
felt that Julian might have passed over with only a smile 
whatever coarse expressions had been made use of by Eric. 
But from the first he had shown a marked antipathy to poor 
Eric. Why he had done so she could not say. It actually 
seemed to her that Julian was showing himself to be jealous 
of Eric. No, she could not accept the suggestion made by 
her instinct in this matter. Jealous — her husband — she 
called him her husband, of course — jealous of Eric. The 
idea was too ridiculous to be entertained. 


2o6 “/ FORBID THE BANNS/" 

She tried to destroy by reasonable arguments the results 
of her instinct. 

She was scarcely successful. 

Women seldom are, when they make the same attempt. 

In the library, whither Julian Charlton had gone to look 
out a legal document, he was standing at a window watch- 
ing the operations of the lawn-mower and listening to its 
clatter. His hands were clenched and his eyes were gleam- 
ing. 

“If he comes across this threshold again I shall kill him 
like a dog,” whispered Mr. Charlton, shaking a fist in the 
face of an ancestor of his who occupied a prominent place 
in a broad gilt frame. 

Then he began pacing the room, after the manner of 
one of the animals which it is thought prudent to keep 
within a strong cage in any zoological collection. After a 
time he gave an exclamation of contempt, and flung himself 
into a chair. 

“Fool ! ” he said in the same whisper to the same unmoved 
ancestor. “Fool! Jealous — jealous of that clown. No, 
no; not jealous — not jealous — and yet — why did that far- 
away look come to her eyes when he introduced those damned 
reminiscences which she shares with him? Can I forget the 
way they met when the steamer got into dock? I saw it in 
his face. If I had not promised her then to give way to her, 
what would have happened? God knows. ’ ’ He leapt to his 
feet. “My God! how I love her — love her — love her!” 
he cried with clasped hands. 

He had approached a corresponding point to that reached 
by another man who, when racked with mad jealousy, cried 
out: 

“Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee!” 

Some minutes had passed before he repeated his exclama- 
tion of contempt. 

“Jealous? Not I — not I,” he said, with a laugh. “Jeal- 


ON WHITE VELVET. 


207 


ous of him — him — a common boor! Pah, as reasonable as 
to be jealous of — of that lad outside,” and he looked at the 
under gardener working the lawn-mower. 

He was endeavoring to reason himself out of his 
jealousy. 

He was scarcely successful. 

Men seldom are, when tney make the same attempt. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


ON A BISHOP. 

1 "'HE next day Bertha was made aware of what an Eng- 
lish May could do in the way of rain. So far from 
feeling inclined to grumble, however, her Australian mem- 
ories caused her to rejoice at the steady downpour that 
blotted out from view even the nearest trees of the park. 
The squatter’s daughter looked on rain as the best of 
nature’s gifts — only one that was not bestowed with suf- 
ficient frequency. 

She had not yet spent a summer in England. 

She clothed herself in waterproofs and made an excur- 
sion on foot with Julian to the home farm, winning the 
admiration of the farmer’s wife by her intelligent obser- 
vations on the subject of lambs. Where this handsome 
young lady had picked up her knowledge of the treat- 
ment of stock the good woman could not imagine. She 
had no hesitation in assuring her husband, however, that 
Mrs. Charlton was one of the right sort, even though she 
did not belong to any of the leading families of Brack- 
enshire. It was an open question in the good woman’s 
mind if the percentage of Brackenshire ladies who would 
face a downpour of rain for the sake of accompanying 
their husbands to a farm was large. 

Bertha’s trudge home through the muddy lanes she felt 
to be altogether delightful. The English farm was a new 
experience to her, and she confessed that it was infinitely 
more picturesque than any Australian station she had ever 
known. The farmhouse looked, she said, as if it had 
taken root in the soil, and the furniture had not the 


208 


ON A BISHOP. 209 

appearance of being made out of flour barrels and tea 
chests. 

There was not much of the tea chest look about the 
old oak dresser she had just seen with the date 1618 
carved upon it. The most picturesque bush stations were 
those which gave one the impression that the owners 
meant them to do duty for only a night or two, and the 
furniture was suggestive of ingenuity rather than stability. 
The English elms were far finer than the blue gums, she 
declared, and though she admitted that the absence of 
the mosquitoes gave her a feeling of loneliness, yet she 
felt certain that, in the course of time, such isolation 
could be endured by her with resignation, if not with abso- 
lute cheerfulness. 

“ I should like nothing better than to have a num- 
ber of such farms,” said she, “ and to visit them every 
day.” 

You need have no difficulty in gratifying your inclina- 
tions in that direction,” said he. “ You can get plenty of 
them cheap enough just now.” 

“ I should so much like to give assisted passages to 
England to some of the struggling Australian farmers 
whom I have seen,” said Bertha. “ They cannot make a 
living out there owing to the competition, the dearness of 
labor, and the uncertain climate. And yet, according to 
what you say, we have a fine country here only waiting to 
be occupied by industrious men. Yes, a few sturdy emi- 
grants from Australia to England appear to be what this 
place wants.” 

Julian laughed. 

“ Upon my word,” said he, “ I am not so sure that you 
are wrong. I am not so sure that the importation of fresh 
blood from the old colonies to England would not bring 
about a good state of things for us here. Well, you have 
sonie money of your own, I think you told me ? ” 


210 


**! FORBID THE BANNS! 


“ Yes, I have more than ten thousand a year. But is it 
not yours now, Julian ? ” 

His face became grave. 

“ How could it be mine ? ” he asked. “ If you were to 
die to-morrow I could not claim a penny of your money. 
God knows I would not try to do so. I have no wish to be 
regarded as an unprincipled scoundrel. That is what 
people would call me.” 

“ But I thought that in England when a girl with money 

married ” She stopped suddenly. He did not make 

any attempt to suggest what he knew was in her mind. 
“ I forgot,” she said in a low voice. “ I forgot that one 
important point in the eyes of your English law. But I 
do not suppose that the law is powerful enough to prevent 
my doing what I like with my own money.” 

“ No ; your money is your own, so long as you live.” 

“ No, it is yours, my beloved. I shall take care that it 
is all transferred to you. You are my husband, and a hus- 
band should have the sole control of all the money that is 
available.” 

“ Not a penny will I have anything to say to,” cried 
Julian. “God forbid that I should ever touch a penny of 
it. I am not so bad as that.” 

Her eyes opened very wide as they were turned upon his 
face. This girl, for all her shrewdness — it approached 
very close to wisdom — in some matters, was as innocent as a 
child in others. He perceived this and his heart smote him. 
It gave him a sharp buffet, but the pain did not last long. 

“ If I had not given way to her she could not have 
avoided the snares of a man with such a fund of rem- 
iniscences as Eric Vicars,” was the thought that came to 
his help — a thought that conveyed that balm for the heal- 
ing of his heart’s buffet. 

“ I am indeed surprised that you should say such words 
to me, Julian,” said she. 


ON A BISHOP. 


2 1 1 


“ My dearest,” he cried — and there was real pain in his 
voice — “ our last words on this subject have been spoken. 
I can never refer to it again.” 

“ Very well,” said she; “ I will not urge anything on 
you. All I can do is to consult you and obtain your 
sanction for all the money I may spend. I told you that I 
did not knowhow to spend money, and did you not promise 
to teach me ? It would seem, however, that I am further off 
the time of instruction than ever. During the past two 
years I have been compelled at least to pay for my own 
house and for what I ate and drank, but I have not now 
even the satisfaction of making such inroads upon my 
income.” 

“ Buy a few more velvet gowns strangled — no, smothered 
is the word, I believe — in old lace,” said Julian, brightening 
up once more. “Do that and carry out your scheme of 
colonizing England, and you will find that your money will 
soon cease to be a burden too grievous to be borne.” 

“ I will do that,” she said. “ And I will also spend some 
money in endeavoring to bring people to believe as I do on 
the subject of marriage.’ 

The brightness died out of the face of Julian Charlton. 

“ You do not mean to start a newspaper ? ” he said with 
some degree of anxiety in his voice. 

“ A newspaper? Oh, dear, nothing of the sort.” 

“ Nor a society of the carnisolist type ? ” 

“ Not even a society, Julian.” 

“ Don’t tell me that you mean to get up lectures through- 
out the country.” 

“ Certainly not — lectures are to amuse, not to instruct. 
It is to a theater one goes if one wants to be instructed.” 

“ What do you mean to do, then ? ” 

“ I mean to fill our house with visitors-^people of influ- 
ence, you know — and let them see how happily you and I 
get on together without shackles. That is my plan. That 


212 


I FORBID THE BANNS / 


is how I mean to bring people to see with our eyes. My 
dearest husband, the force of our example will be felt upcn 
everyone with whom we come in contact.” 

“ I see,” said he, without any expression of great enthu- 
siasm. 

“ You agree with me ? ” she said in a tone of inquiry. 

‘‘Undoubtedly, my dearest, I see that — that — if you get 
the right people to come ” 

“ But we must get the right people, Julian. Where can 
the difficulty be ? We must get people without prejudices.” 

“You will have to go out of England for them.” 

“ I don’t think so. The clergy will be hard to convince 
—of course I am prepared for that.” 

“ You had better be prepared for it.” 

• “ But we shall get some well-known clergyman — a bishop, 

if necessary, certainly an archdeacon — to come and stay 
with us for a while, and we will convince him that it is 
possible for people to live a proper — nay, a noble life, if 
they only love one another truly, as we do, Julian. We will 
show all the world that love is the foundation of all good 
on earth — not marriage.” 

“You will convince the bishop or the archdeacon of the 
truth of this ? ” 

“ Why should we not ? They are educated men ; some of 
them are even intellectual, I believe. Why, wasn’t it a 
bishop who said that he would prefer to see the people of 
England free drinkers than enslaved teetotalers ? ” 

“ It was a bishop who said something in that way. But, 
my dear Bertha, it is not yet on record that a bishop ever 
said that he would prefer seeing a man and a woman who 
loved each other truly living together without being mar- 
ried, rather than seeing in that condition a man and a 
woman who, without loving one another, have gone through 
the ceremony of marriage.” 

“ I don’t suppose any bishop has ever said so much yet ; 


ON A BISHOP. 


213 


but I hope I shall live to hear one express a preference that 
would do honor to himself and the Church. We must do 
our best to bring about that record, Julian, and we shall 
do it, if we are only in earnest.” 

“Yes, we must be in earnest, that is certain.” The tone 
in which Charlton spoke was such as would lead one to the 
conclusion that his period of earnestness had not yet 
arrived. He may have had a suspicion that his tone con- 
veyed this to Bertha, for he added after a pause, “ Any- 
how, my beloved, we will keep ourselves in a position to 
convince all comers that two people can continue loving 
each other truly and nobly, even though they have departed 
from the beaten track which civilized people have trod for 
many centuries.” 

“Julian,” she cried, “that track that you talk of is like 
the slave track from the interior of Africa to the coast ; it 
is covered with the skeletons of those who have fallen 
beneath the weight of their shackles.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


ON THE WAR PATH, 



HERE is sometimes a cessation of the downpour on a 


1 day in May in England. Bertha found this out before 
she and Julian had reached the Court. Before sitting 
down to lunch a gleam of sunshine came from a break in 
the clouds, and as the girl stood at the window for a few 
minutes she saw the lovely stretch of lawn flash into ten 
thousand glorious emeralds. The trees of the park were 
laden with diamonds, and the birds were clamorous with 
delight at the recovery of the sun. 

Julian had ordered horses for four o’clock, Bertha hav- 
ing assured him that the walk of the forenoon had not in 
the least fatigued her. So soon as he saw her in the saddle 
he knew that there was no girl in Brackenshire who had 
such a seat on horseback. So far as his recollection served 
him, there was no girl in the country who looked nearly so 
well as she did in a riding habit. 

He felt exuberant as he put his horse to a trot on the 
soft road leading to the remains of a famous castle, men- 
tioned by Sir Walter Scott in one of his novels. Every 
stranger to the county was without delay conveyed to 
this place ; and Julian thought that the sooner Bertha got 
it over the better prepared she would be to face all inquiries 
that might be put to her on the subject of the castle. Hav- 
ing lived in the colonies she had cherished her Scott as 
well as her Dickens and even her Bulwer-Lytton. She was 
able to keep Julian from making any very glaring mistakes 
in his attempts to rehabilitate the castle in its ancient splen- 
dor for her benefit. He soon found that it was he who was 


214 


ON THE WAR PATH. 


215 


being instructed by Bertha regarding the archaeology of 
the neighborhood. 1 

The ride of six miles along the road was very delightful, 
even though it had a “ sight ” for its object. The scent of 
the rain- drenched leaves filled the air, and the colors of the 
well-cultured fields on either side of the road were exquis- 
itely fresh. They did not waste much time upon the castle. 
It was enough that Bertha pointed out to her companion the 
very window through which Scott’s beautiful, but history’s 
homely, heroine had watched the departure of her lover for 
the fight where he got so much glory. Under the influence 
of Bertha’s instructions Julian began to get quite interested 
in the well-preserved ruin close to which he had lived 
nearly all his life. He had no idea that there was so much 
in it. 

Any man who wishes to become thoroughly acquainted 
with the topography and the history of England, together 
with the beauties of Scott, Dickens, and Bulwer-I>ytton, 
should marry a young woman from some of our colonies. 
A young woman who has lived in any of the New England 
States will do equally well, only she will insist on his know- 
ing something of Emerson also, and this is a drawback. 

Returning to the Court by the lanes, they overtook 
another couple on horseback. The animals were standing 
across the lane, and the man was pointing out with con- 
siderable effusion to the young woman who was by his 
side, something that seemed remarkable in a very common- 
place sort of meadow. He was taking such pains to point 
out the imaginary object that Julian at once knew that 
the man had been drawing the young woman’s head close 
to his own, or indulging in some similar freak of human 
nature, when the sound of the approaching hoofs had sur- 
prised him into propriety. 

This being so, he was careful to turn his eyes away from 
the strangers when he was riding past them. He did not 


2i6 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


wish to make the man feel any more embarrassed than he 
actually was at that moment. The horses of the strangers, ' 
however, were not so absorbed in the view at the other side 
of the hedge as they were at the prospect of taking 
a mouthful out of the necks of the approaching animals. 
The consequence was that both the horses, which were 
meant to remain passive, wheeled suddenly round just as 
the two others were passing them, and the action revealed 
to the astonished eyes of Bertha and Julian that the man 
who was pointing over the hedge with his whip was Cyril 
Southcote, and that the young woman whose interest he 
was pretending to be endeavoring to arouse was Marian 
Travers. 

‘ Heavens! " cried Cyril, “ is it really you ? ” 

It was rather a feeble remark for a polisher of paradoxes 
to make ; and this shows how dangerous it is for such 
persons to ride about dim lanes in the month of May, with 
a girl possessing a charming figure for a riding habit by 
their side. 

“ I am delighted,” cried Marian, her face roseate either 
from the effects of her delight or from the effects of the view 
over the hedge. “ It cannot be,” she continued, looking 
earnestly at Bertha — “ and yet ” 

“ Yet it is,” said Julian. “ Why should it not be ? Why 
should we not be on a road within three miles of our 
home ? ” 

“ Of our home — our home ? ” cried Marian, looking from 
him to Bertha and back again to him, and then at Cyril, 
who, she could see, was preparing something clever and 
paradoxical as an after greeting to his friends. “ Our 
home ? Ah, then, the congratulations which I ventured to 
offer in the docks were not misplaced, though you tried to 
make it appear that they were, you silly things ! ” she 
added. “ And when is the event of events to take place ?” 

“ The event of events?” said Julian. 


ON THE WAR PATH 


217 


“ Perhaps you do not look on a wedding as anything 
special,” remarked Marian. “Well, in the simple language 
of Mary Jane, when are you going to appear at the 
Hymeneal altar ? ^ 

“ Never,” said Bertha promptly. 

A puzzled look was on Miss Travers’ face as she stared 
first at the speaker, then at Julian Charlton. The result of 
her observation of Bertha was indefinite, but the result of 
her searching gaze into Charlton’s face was to convince her 
that he was annoyed at something. Cyril Southcote, being a 
man, considered himself competent to arrive at a just conclu- 
sion respecting the exact import of the girl’s exclamation. 

' “ Your riddle is on a level of ingeniousness with one of 

Bunyan’s,” said Cyril. “ ‘ They that are down need fear 
no fall ’ — that is the interpretation of your ‘ never,’ Mrs. 

. Charlton.” 

“ What,” cried Marian — “ married already ? ” 

“Yes,” said Julian, after a pause of a few seconds and 
in a tone of indecision. 

The tone of indecision puzzled Marian Travers. Why 
should Charlton be undecided, she wondered. She 
believed that if there is any subject upon which a man — 
unless he has lived all his life in Scotland — should have 
thoroughly made up his mind, it is as to whether or not he 
is married. 

“ Married already ? How odd ! ” she remarked, looking 
again from one to the other. 

“ Odd ? ” cried Cyril. 

“ Odd ? ” cried Julian. “ Well, I cannot for my part see 
where the oddity of the transaction lies. Dear Miss 
Travers, young men and young women get married every 
day, and if they don’t live happy, we may.” 

“ ‘ Never morning wore to evening but some heart did 
break ’—there you have the Laureate’s account of it,” 
remarked Cyril. 


2i8 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!'' 


“That is scarcely the same thing,” said Julian. 

“ Well, there are exceptions, no doubt,” said Cyril. 
“But as a general rule ” 

“ I detest cheap cynicism,” said Marian. “ My dear 
Miss Lan — I beg your pardon, Mrs. Charlton, I offer you 
my congratulations, and trust that you will not refuse them 
this time.” 

“I will not refuse them, indeed,” said Bertha. 

“ How curious it was that immediately after you came 
down from Ladder Hill at St. Helena I prophesied whom 
you had met, Mr. Charlton !” 

“ No better system of prophecy has yet been hit upon,” 
said Cyril. “ After the event is the safest time for 
prophecy.” 

“ But in this case I had no idea that Mr. Charlton had 
met anyone,” said Marian. “ None of us had the least idea 
that Miss Lancaster was aboard the steamer. Did I not 
prophesy accurately, Mr. Charlton?” 

“ I own that I was astonished. Miss Travers. I will not 
say how much your prophecy contributed to the happiness 
which I enjoy.” 

“ Do not make use of the singular pronoun,” said Cyril. 

Matrimony may properly be described as a condition of 
life in which there is no first person singular. You should 
not say ‘ I,’ but ‘ we.’ ” 

“ I fancied that I saw the germ of some flower of speech 
in your glance,” said Julian. “I like the blossom.” 

“ It is very sweet,” said Bertha. 

“And now,” cried Marian, very prettily, “have you no 
prophecy to indulge in, so far as we — I think you said the 
pronoun should always be plural, Cyril — so far as we are 
concerned ?” 

“What ! you and Cyril- ?” exclaimed Julian. 

“Why not?” inquired Marian. 

“Why not, indeed?” laughed Julian. “And he was 


ON THE PVAE PATH. 


219 


pointing out something in the meadow ! By Jove, you are 
a man after all, Southcote, and not a mere maker of 
paradoxes.” 

“Your flattery is overwhelming,” said Cyril. “Why, 
cannot you see that there is something exquisitely paradox- 
ical in the fact of one who perceives paradoxes in all things 
being engaged to be married?” 

“ Of course I see that — we must all see it,” laughed 
Charlton. “ But if you take to living paradoxes, my friend, 
I fear that your wife will have an uncomfortable time 
of it.” 

“ We mean to be comfortable. I will break him of that 
distressing habit — it is only a habit, whatever people may 
say — of being clever.” 

“ Pray accept my — our congratulations,” said Bertha. 

“Which we offer with all our hearts,” said Julian. 

(It was only a little over a month since he had been so 
alarmed aboard the steamer at the prospect of Mrs. Hardy 
offering him her congratulations.) 

The intention of the horses to stand the delay no longer 
was beginning to be more definite than was consistent with 
the comfort of their riders. 

“ We must get on our way,” said Julian. “ I fear that we 
have far too long diverted your attention from that object 
of interest which you were observing so earnestly on the 
other side of the hedge. We are delighted to meet you, 
especially under such circumstances.” 

Miss Travers then explained that she and Cyril were 
guests at Queen’s Elms, Sir Edwin Rushton’s place, a few 
miles beyond Brackenhurst. She would, she said, be very 
pleased to drive to the Court with Lady Rushton in the 
course of a day or two. Bertha endeavored to say how glad 
she would be to see Miss Travers and Lady Rushton ; and 
so, with waving of hands, the two couples parted, greatly 
to the satisfaction of the horses. 


220 


*‘7 FORBID THE BANNS!'* 


‘‘ Great Heavens ! ” cried Julian when he and Bertha 
were a mile on their way. “ Great Heavens ! that young 
woman possesses something akin to genius. I knew she 
would not go back to the Afrikanders. I saw that look in 
her eyes when she .said good-by to the commissioner. I 
am inclined to believe that she did not contribute to the 
happiness of the commissioner’s existence at the Cape. 
And Cyril Southcote — a fellow who has knocked about as 
much as any fellow alive — a fellow who has had warnings 
enough of girls in all the colonies — who knows of what 
they are capable when hard pressed — great Heavens ! Well, 
never mind ! I only hope that Sir Montague will make 
him a generous allowance. Perhaps Cyril will be induced 
to do something on his own account now.” 

“ I like Marian Travers,” said Bertha. “O — Julian, if 
we could only induce them to follow our example, now 
that we know they love each other ! If we could but -” 

“For God’s sake, Bertha,” he cried, “do not let such a 
thought take hold of you. You could have no idea what 
harm you may do.” 

“^But when they love each other ” 

“ How do you know that ? The notion of Marian Trav- 
ers being in love, as you and I regard being in love, Bertha, 
is too ridiculous to be entertained for a moment ; she has 

had her experiences Never mind ! Although there 

is a material difference between the phrases ‘ she has loved 
much’ and ‘she has loved many,’ still much should be 
forgiven her.” 

“ What, you do not believe that she is in love with him ! ” 
Bertha brought her horse to a standstill as she spoke. It 
seemed a very serious matter to her, this marriage without 
the certainty of love. 

“Who knows?” said Julian. “She may be really and 
truly in love at last. I am not disposed to judge her. It 
is not everyone who can show such a clean record as you 


ON THE WAR PATH. 


■ 221 


and I, dearest. What did you say this morning ? The 
slave track from the interior to the coast — ah, my beloved, 
if you had had my experience of observing that converg- 
ence of cliques which goes by the name of society, you 
would say that it is the track of the debutante to the altar 
that is strewn with the skeletons of her dead loves. I 
wonder sometimes when I see a lovely young matron 
sitting in her carriage among her children if, now and 
again, she does not hear the shriek of some of those past 
loves of hers, who in battle were slain and unburied remain 
inglorious on the plain. Pah ! This is the sentiment of 
the third-class novelist, who invariably treats his readers to 
a chapter on the skeleton in the cupboard. ‘The skeleton 
on the war path ’ is the heading to my chapter.” 

“ But those ghosts — those ghosts ! ” said Bertha. 

“ There are no ghosts, my dear,” laughed Julian. “You 
have read the vision of the prophet — the most marvelous 
thing in literature, I believe it to be. It refers to the mat- 
ter about which we have been talking. When the young 
woman gets married to the man of her parents’ choice — 
perhaps of her own choice — for sometimes the two chance 
to coincide — there is a great moving among dry bones. 
They rise up and get married too, and their wives sit pleas- 
antly among their children in the carriage. So civilization 
triumphs over savagery. The Society for Psychical Re- 
search has proved that there never yet was a ghost whose 
origin could not be traced to the kitchen. Your cook, not 
your chaplain, is the person to whom you must apply if you 
want your unquiet spirits exorcised.” 

“And you, Julian, have perceived all these years how 
society has made a mockery of God’s gift of love, and yet 
you are not enthusiastic in your desire to help me bring 
about a better state of things?” 

“ Oh, cursed sprite ! ” said Julian, putting his horse to a 
canter. “ Come, dearest, if we do not have a canter before 


222 


“/ FORBID THE BA HNS/ 


dinner there is no knowing what we may find ourselves 
talking about — human affinities and animal magnetism, 
maybe.” 

Though Bertha was anxious to pursue the conversation 
to a logical conclusion, she thought it better to send her 
horse forward until it was abreast of his on the soft turf, 
and, side by side, they cantered up almost to the very 
porch of the Court. 

She put on one of her most subtle dinner dresses — a 
brocaded silk of the most delicate pink that was ever seen 
in nature — a pink that may only be found in the inmost 
lining of an East Indian shell, or on the bosom of a maiden 
who has been in the arms of her lover. 

Bertha’s bosom was dazzlingly white in comparison with 
the tulle of her dress, when she sat down to dinner ; but 
before the candles were lighted in the drawing room 
after dinner, her bosom had become as delicately roseate 
as the second example which nature affords of the subtle 
tint of the brocaded silk. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


ON THE STUDY OF GEOGRAPHY. 

J ULIAN CHARLTON had been very well acquainted 
with the Rushtons of Queen’s Elms previous to his 
setting out on his travels. Sir Edwin Rushton was the 
fourth baronet. The first had been of great service to the 
government of Mr. Fox, and had received his baronetcy as 
a reward. He had been moderately wealthy ; but cards, 
horses, and plain daughters had been so fatal to the pros- 
perity of the family that the fourth baronet, who had four 
daughters exceeding in plainness even the most character- 
istically plain of their grand-aunts unto the third genera- 
tion back, was known to be yearly in search of a person 
willing to lend money upon the security of unlet farms. 
As he had not discovered this philanthropist, his circum- 
stances were, as a rule, straitened. 

Julian recollected how each of the four plain daughters 
of the house of Rushton had shown herself sympathetic 
with his own aspirations. He had been a scientific explorer 
in those days, and in order to show her sympathy, the eldest 
had openly scoffed at the book of Genesis — thereby ruining 
her prospects with the young rector who had just been pre- 
sented with the living of Brackenhurst. 

When his artistic fit came upon him, a year later, the 
second bought ten yards of old gold muslin at Mr. Liberty’s, 
a pink paper shade for the lamp, and a screen with a stork 
on it. She had tied the muslin in scarf lengths round the 
flower pots, she had made reading impossible with her 
lamp shade, and she had provoked a critical comparison 


223 


224 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS I 


among the very frank members of her household between 
herself and the bird which appeared on the screen. 

He had talked to the third on the subject of English 
literature, and she had forthwith subscribed to the Family 
Herald. The remaining daughter heard that he was musical. 
She took lessons on the banjo. 

The four daughters remained unmarried. 

But it is scarcely necessary to say that, however straitened 
and uncertain the income of a country gentleman may be, 
he still keeps his riding horses and his coach horses, his 
butler, footmen, grooms, under grooms, coachmen, cooks, 
laundresses, housemaids, scullery maids, kitchenmaids, 
dairymaids, lady’s maids, and all the other consumers of 
cold beef and pickles — cheese and beer — who find indoor 
relief beneath the roof of the family mansion. The 
Rushton family had all of these ; and though they could 
not afford to maintain a house in town during the season, 
they invariably entertained a number of visitors in the 
summer and autumn. 

In the winter they gave dinner parties — county family 
dinner parties — monuments of dullness. 

It appeared that Miss Travers and Cyril Southcote were 
among the visitors at Queen’s Elms — the first of the 
summer set. Sir Edwin and the commissioner had been in 
the same regiment in their youth, and Lady Rushton had 
known Marian’s mother. 

As for Cyril Southcote, he was understood to be so 
clever as to be thoroughly good for nothing ; and thus Sir 
Edwin thought he had sufficient grounds for entertaining 
the hope that he would propose to one of the plain daugh- 
ters. He had not done so ; but he had proposed to Miss 
Travers, whom he found to be everything that a nice girl 
should be — including an appreciative listener. Appreciative 
listeners were getting rarer every day, he felt. Girls were 
getting to be able to talk for themselves, and to hold 


ON THE STUDY OF GEOGRAPHY. 225 

theories of their own ; so, though he had been content 
during the greater part of the voyage to merely observe 
Miss Travers, yet, during the last week she had been so 
appreciative a listener, he felt a wrench at parting from 
her. Two days after they had come together at Queen’s 
Elms he had spoken to her on the subject of love. 

He found her to be an appreciative listener. 

Julian Charlton was not a vainer man than most men ; 
but he knew perfectly well that Marian Travers had been 
disappointed when she found that he was looking forward, 
not to marrying her, but to marrying the strange girl whom 
he had found at the summit of Ladder Hill at St. Helena. 
He fancied that he had noticed a curious little bitter smile 
about her lips when they were waving hands to one another 
in that shady green lane. He wondered if Miss Travers 
had any touch of malice in her nature. He was looking 
forward to her visit with some degree of eagerness — some 
degree of anxiety. 

Bertha was also looking forward to her visit. She was 
wondering if it might be possible to obtain the practical 
sympathy of Marian for her scheme for the elevation of 
love. 

She had actually a hope that she would, in a moment, 
obtain the sympathy of a young woman who had all her 
life studied the best means of obtaining a husband ! 

She actually hoped to have the co-operation of the 
young woman whose lover (that might have been) she had 
annexed ! 

Three days passed before Lady Rushton, accompanied 
by Marian Travers, one of the plain daughters, and Cyril 
Southcote, paid her a visit to the Court. Sunday intervened, 
and both Julian and Bertha went to church. The experi- 
ence of an English village church was a new and a very 
delightful one to the girl. The building had not been 
subjected to ihat system of spoliation known as “ restor- 


226 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


ing ” ; consequently it remained picturesque, with old oak 
pews like loose-boxes, and free from the abomination of 
pitch pine and varnish. The family angels of the Charltons 
wept in marble, with a monumental tablet between them, 
over the square pew where Bertha and Julian sat. The 
originator of the mural monument had evidently been of a 
thrifty mind. He had determined that so large a square 
of marble, should not be wasted with the inscription of only 
the name of his wife and child, in whose memory he had 
had it carved. He had caused the two names to be put up 
in a corner, and the word “also” to be cut below them. 
When a death occurred in the family the name of the 
deceased was neatly cut under the previous name, the 
word “ also ” being added as before. The tablet seemed 
to have threatened at one period not to last out, so the 
stone mason had considerately cut the later names only 
half the size of the first four rows ; and it could not but 
have led up to some cheerful reflections on Julian Charl- 
ton’s part, to observe that there was plenty of room for 
three or four additional names on the tablet. His name 
was not likely to be huddled into a corner. But Bertha, 
reading the list during one of the Lessons, was somewhat 
disturbed when she found that it ended with “also.” 
Julian’s head was just beneath this word. The effect was 
grim. 

The sermon was one that must have been highly appre- 
ciated by the villagers to whom it was addressed. It was 
a sound, practical, homely discourse as to the exact sig- 
nificance of certain Greek particles in the writings of St. 
Paul. It doubtless helped to free the farmers’ minds from 
all misgivings on a subject, which it is generally under- 
stood — if one may judge from the sermons that one hears 
in village churches — has agitated the agricultural classes 
for many years. 

Returning to the Court, Bertha admitted 4:hat the Misses 


ON THE STUDY OF GEOGRAPHY. 


227 


Rushton were very plain. They had occupied one side of 
the pew next to the Charlton’s, and they had been inju- 
dicious enough to sit side by side. Plain daughters ought 
not to concentrate their forces. Artfully distributed each 
of them might even have seemed passable. 

The one who accompanied her mother to visit the Court 
realized the idea of Diana done in terra cotta, in all points 
except features and figure. 

Lady Rushton was small, but stately and excessively 
patronizing. She patronized Bertha. 

“ Marian has told me all about you, my dear,” said she. 
“ You are a colonist — a New Zealander, I believe.” 

“ I was born in Australia, Lady Rushton,” said Bertha. 

“ Ah, I knew I was right,” said Lady Rushton. “ Aus- 
tralia, New Zealand, Tasmania, Fiji — they are all the 
same.” 

“ Quite,” said Cyril, “quite the same — to some people.” 

“ Exactly ; he has been there, so he should know,” said 
Lady Rushton assuringly to Bertha, lest she should insist 
on her absurd distinctions being recognized. 

“ He has been where ?” said Bertha. 

“ There,” said Lady Rushton. “ New Zealand.” 

“ He is more fortunate than I am,” said Bertha ; “ I 
never was there.” 

Lady Rushton smiled a pitying, patronizing smile. 

“ In England,” said she, “ we are not accustomed to 
draw such delicate distinctions. We call people who have 
been born in Devonshire English, just as much as people 
who have been born in Northumberland. Some who have 
been born in Cornwall and on the borders of Wales are 
called English by courtesy.” 

“ They are indeed,” said Cyril, nodding approvingly. 

“ You see,” said Lady Rushton, waving her hand toward 
Cyril. “ And so you need not be otherwise than quite at 
your ease with us, Mrs. Charlton. We know that you can- 


228 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


not help having been born in New Zealand. They are a 
most interesting people, I am given to understand ; are 
they not, Mr. Southcote ? ” 

“ Extremely,” said he. They speak English fluently.” 

‘‘ You see,” said Lady Rushton, with another wave and 
another patronizing smile. ‘‘ So you need not be afraid, 
Mrs. Charlton. You will never hear your birth alluded to. 
No one whom you are likely to meet in society could possi- 
bly have the bad taste to refer to such a matter.” 

“ If anyone should it would be a great pleasure to me,” 
said Bertha. “ I am very proud of having been born in 
Australia.” 

“ Oh, dear ! ” said Lady Rushton, lifting up her hands. 

“ In Australia, I need hardly tell you, who seem to be so 
well informed, Lady Rushton, there are quite as noble fam- 
ilies as any in England. The best groom I ever had in 
Australia was the second son of an English peer, and the 
best hand my father had on one of his sheep runs was 
the representative of a family that came over with the 
Conqueror.” 

“ My dear Mrs. Charlton ! ” cried Lady Rushton in a 
tone that suggested extreme incredulity. 

“ The police sergeant at one of our stations was the son 
of a bishop,” continued Bertha, “ and for several months 
our head sheep-shearer was the brother of a baronet.” 

“ A baronet ! ” almost shrieked Lady Rushton, as if she 
felt that this young woman whom she m.eant to patronize 
was becoming unwarrantably personal. “ A baronet ! there 
must be some mistake.” 

“ There is none, I assure you,” replied Bertha. “ But 
you English must not fancy that because your best families 
work for us in a menial capacity we decline to regard you 
as on a social level with ourselves — or, at any rate, very 
nearly so. No, I assure you, Lady Rushton, there is no 
foolish exclusiveness among us in this respect.” 


ON THE STUDY OF GEOGRAPHY. 229 

There was a silence in the drawing room. Cyril South- 
cote even was breathless. He looked admiringly at Ber- 
tha, and then glanced at Julian. He could see that Julian 
did not admire this “ scoring ” on Bertha’s part. Cyril 
knew that men do not as a rule admire a display of clever- 
ness by their own wives. 

In the midst of the silence tea was brought in, and Ber- 
tha was excessively gracious in offering her visitors tea. 
The plain daughter wondered how she would look if she 
possessed lace like that which Mrs. Charlton was wearing. 
She rather thought that it would suit her “style.” Plain 
daughters are fond of referring to their “ style.” 

Marian Travers thought that perhaps her turn had come 
to converse with Bertha. Julian fancied that he detected 
about the corners of her mouth the little suggestion of 
malice which he had noticed there more than once before. 

“ I told Lady Rushton of the romance associated with 
your meeting,” said Marian, glancing from Julian to Ber- 
tha. “ Was it not romantic, Lady Rushton ? ” 

“ Extremely romantic,” said Lady Rushton. “ But I 
have known romantic marriages turn out all right in the 
end,” she added. “Yes — some.” 

“ And I can only hope that ours will come to be regarded 
by you as a valuable addition to your experience in this 
way. Lady Rushton,” said Julian. 

“ I hope so,” said her ladyship seriously, but with a dep- 
recating shake of her head, which was equivalent to an 
expression of doubt that rather outweighed the hope. 

Cyril perceived that this was distinctly rude on the part 
of Lady Rushton. He also perceived that Bertha had not 
failed to accept it as a piece of rudeness. 

“ Oh, I think we may take it for granted that you will be 
happy, Mrs. Charlton,” said Marian. 

“ And I will take it upon me to answer for your hus- 
band, Mrs. Charlton,” said Cyril. 


230 


“/ FORBID THE DAMNS / 


“Thank you; you may,” said Julian. “How odd it 
was, Lady Rushton,” he continued ; “ Southcote and I 
were talking one afternoon on the phenomenon of love.” 
Lady Rushton straightened herself in her seat. She did 
not like the sound of the phrase. She was not sure that it 
might not have some improper import, which would be 
quite unfit fora daughter to hear. “Yes, and what was 
most singular in the matter was that Southcote declared 
that there was no such thing as love unless one fell into it, 
and I held that it was largely due to sympathetic associa- 
tion. And yet, before three days had passed, I had found 
out that I was quite astray in my theory, and before two 
months had passed he had proved that he accepted my 
principles.” 

“ How delicious ! ” cried the plain daughter. “ I am 
nuts on romance,” she added, with a smile of extraordinary 
breadth and color. She felt that in saying “ nuts ” she had 
reached the farthest limits of human fastness. 

“ I don’t see any reason for your exclamation, Euphemia,” 
said Lady Rushton. “ I think that mutual esteem and 
respect, both of which constitute the true foundation for 
hoping that a marriage will result in happiness, can only be 
acquired through time. There is a proverb about marrying 
in haste.” 

Cyril perceived that Lady Rushton was clumsily attempt- 
ing to put into practice a policy of reprisal. She was 
determined to make Bertha suffer for having not only 
declined to be patronized, but for having herself assumed 
the role of patron. 

“ I hope that our repentance may not come at leisure,” 
said Bertha gently. 

“ I was glad to see you at church,” said Lady Rushton — 
the word “ repentance ” suggested the topic. 

“ It was the first time I was in a church in England,” 
said Bertha. 


ON THE STUDY OF GEOGRAPHY. 231 

Except, of course, when you were getting married," 
said Marian, with a laugh. 

There was a silence. 

“ I said, except when you were getting married," 
repeated Marian in a louder tone. 

‘‘ I cannot say that the picturesqueness of the sermon was 
quite so striking as that of the old church," said Julian. “ I 
think that business about the Greek particle a trifle beyond 
the average of erudition that one looks for in a village 
church." 

“ I considered it most improving," said Lady Rushton. 
“ I do not consider that the Church of England is a fitting 
subject for jest." 

“ Nor is any other Church, in my opinion," said Julian. 

“ There is no other Church," said Lady Rushton. I 
leave Dissenters to look after themselves." 

“ Which most of them do," remarked Cyril. “ They 
look after the non-Dissenters as well, during their spare 
moments, and with such considerable success as is exces- 
sively annoying to the non-Dissenters." 

“ The colonies are swarming with Dissenters, 1 hear," 
said Lady Rushton, looking meaningly toward Bertha. 

Are they really ? " said she. 

“ I think," said Marian, “ that if I were getting married 
I should choose such a charming little church as we have 
at Brackenhurst. Why did you not come down here to be 
married, Mrs. Charlton ?" 

“You see, Bertha’s aunt lives in town," said Charlton 
quickly — almost breathlessly. 

“ To be sure, I remember Mrs. Hardy very well — so 
motherly ! " said Marian. “ And so you were compelled to 
suit yourselves to circumstances. I was in town until a 
week ago. Why did you not ask me to the wedding ? I 
would have let nothing interfere with my going." 

“ Why, you never gave us your address," said Julian, 


232 **/ FORBID THE BANNS F* 

Never mind, Miss Travers, we bear you no malice ; and I 
promise you that we shall be present when you are being 
married.” 

“ You certainly must,” said Marian, What church in 
London did you say you were married in ?” 

My dear. Lady Rushton will take another cup of tea,” 
cried Julian, rising to relieve Lady Rushton of the custody 
of her cup. 

“ No, thank you,” said Lady Rushton. ‘‘What church 
did you get married in ? ” 

She believed in her heart that Charlton had married a 
Dissenter. She was determined that the offense should be 
admitted. She had not failed to observe the evasion of the 
question put by Miss Travers. 

“We got married in no church. Lady Rushton,” said 
Bertha quietly. 

“ Great Heavens ! ” whispered Lady Rushton, “ no 
church ! I knew it. A Dissenting chapel — I have heard 
of them — all whitewash and snuffles.” 

“ Neither in church nor chapel nor in the presence of a 
registrar,” continued Bertha. 

There was a long silence. 

Lady Rushton was paralyzed with astonishment. 

Even Cyril Southcote was somewhat surprised. 

Then Lady Rushton took a long breath. She looked at 
Bertha, then at Julian, then at Marian. 

Then her eyes rested upon her plain daughter. 

The sight aroused all the British mother within her. 

With something like a cry she sprang to her feet and 
rushed to her daughter. 

She stood between the Child and the Contaminator — ^ 
between a monument of terra cotta and one of marble. 

“ Spare us !” she cried imploringly. “ Spare my child ! 
She at least is innocent ; she knows nothing of this iniquity.” 

“ Lady Rushton,” said Marian, “ I am sure that we are 
under some mistake.” 


ON THE STUDY OF GEOGRAPHY. 


233 


‘‘ We are,” said the mother ; “ the mistake was coming 
here at all. You brought me, Marian Travers — you brought 
me, and — ah — the Child — take her away — let her escape ! ” 

“ There is no mistake whatever. Miss Travers,” said 
Bertha. “ Mr. Charlton and I are just as honorably hus- 
band and wife as if we had gone through a ceremony in a 
church. We love one another with a love that is God’s 
best gift. We are married in the sight of God.” 

“ In the sight of the devil, woman ! ” cried Lady 
Rushton. “ I see it all — I see it all ! ” 

Charlton went to the bell rope, and thence to the draw- 
ing room door. He opened it to the fullest extent. 

“ Lady Rushton’s carriage,” he said to the footman. 

Lady Rushton lifted up her head, drew down the 
corners of her mouth, squared her shoulders, and keeping 
well on the weather side, so to speak, of her daughter, to 
protect her from the possibility of contamination, stalked 
out of the room. 

The daughter looked around, and, smiling pleasantly at 
Bertha, made a little movement with one of her thumbs in 
the direction of her mother — the action was not one that 
suggested respect. 

“ This is a curious business,” said Cyril, standing at the 
door. “ Of course I know there is something behind that 
we know nothing about ; but still ” 

“ I am bewildered, I frankly confess,” said Marian, arch- 
ing her eyebrows. “ I suppose Mr. and — well, let us say, 
Mrs. Charlton, understand their own business and what is 
due to society.’* 

“ You are quite safe in supposing so much,’* said Charlton. 

“ But you cannot blame us if ” 

“ In no way do we blame anyone for anything,” cried 
Julian. “ Lady Rushton is getting impatient.” 

“ Good-by,” said Marian. I wish I had not so insisted 


“ Do not distress yourself,” said Julian. You had much 


234 


“/ FORBID THE BAJVHS/” 


better give all your attention to making peace with Lady 
Rushton.” 

After a moment’s pause, broken only by the sound of 
Lady Rushton’s voice from her carriage, Marian put out her 
hand to Bertha. Cyril gave a sigh of relief. He hated 
a scene. 

“ After all,” said he when Marian was at the point of 
leaving, “ marriage is like sin : it resolves itself into a ques- 
tion of geography.” 

“ Cyril,” cried Marian, “ may I beg that you will recollect 
that I am present.” 

I recollect it perfectly,” said he. “ My dear Charlton, 
yours is a most interesting experiment. I wonder how it 
will end. Anything new in marriage or poison has always 
interested me greatly. I have never had the courage to 
test any novelty for myself in either direction, but this fact 
does not prevent my being greatly interested in watching 
the effect of a novel poison or the realization of a new idea 
in that relationship which the Church calls marriage. What 
do you call your system — the name Free-Love has a. soup f on 
of vulgarity about it ? A taking name is vital to the success 
of such a cult. I did not fancy such an idea as this could 
possibly be put into practice in this century and by people 
in society. I admire your courage exceedingly. It deserves 
to succeed, but it won’t. Good-by. I hear your wedding 
bells in the distance.” 

Whatever he may have heard in the distance he certainly 
heard the voice of Marian Travers close at hand. She had 
gone from the room making a gesture of impatience, and 
had again called to him from the hall. There was some 
shrillness in her voice. 

In another moment the hoofs of the very indifferent 
coach horses of the Rushton family were tearing up the 
gravel of the avenue. 

Bertha and Julian stood alone in the drawing room. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


ON BEING THOUGHT A SCOUNDREL. 

‘‘'T'HAT is the first of the scenes we may look for,” said 
1 Julian. 

“ If that woman is a specimen of the aristocracy of Eng- 
land,” said Bertha, “ all I can say is that I prefer such 
examples as we have around us in Australia. The Honor- 
able Jeff was a man of good feeling as well as a first-rate 
groom, and Courtenay Riders, the baronet’s brother, was 
chivalrous in every way. Why, that is nothing but a vulgar 
old woman — without education, without good sense, full of 
prejudice, ignorance, pig-headedness, and insolence.” 

“ Lady Rushton is by no means a bad specimen of her 
class,” said Julian. “ She would not have so much minded 
that we are not married ” 

“But we are married, Julian.” 

“ Of course, dearest, as we regard marriage ; but what 
set her back up was your giving her so clearly to understand 
that you would not submit to be patronized by her. She 
could not stand that. Did you notice how she tried to 
force you to confess that you were a Dissenter ? ” 

“ And if I had been one •” 

“ She would probably have said that you showed very 
bad taste. These country families who have got no ideas 
beyond phosphates and drain pipes, just as their fathers had 
no ideas beyond turnips and mangolds, thank God that 
they have still their Church of England. To be a Dis- 
senter shows very bad taste, they think.” 

“ I wonder that Miss Travers, who really is a nice girl, 
can tolerate that narrow-minded old woman.” 


235 


236 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


“ My dear, Marian Travers knows what suits herself. I 
feel at this moment that she had reasons of her own for 
forcing you into a corner : I fancied that I saw more than 
a suspicion of malice in her expression when we were 
parting from her a few evenings ago.’* 

“ Why should she bear us any malice ? ’* 

Who can tell what she may account as a sufficient rea- 
son ? Never mind. We are independent of all such 
people. You and I, dearest, can live for one another.” 

“You are not sorry, Julian, that you have accepted my 
principles ? ” said Bertha after a pause. 

“ My dearest,” said he, taking her hand and looking very 
tenderly into her face, “ I made up my mind I could not 
live without you. You may rest perfectly assured that I 
shall never even think of reproaching you for anything. 
We stand together, Bertha, in this business. I agree with 
all that you have said regarding the union of love and the 
shackles of marriage, even though we should be cut off 
from society.” 

“ And you think that we shalF be isolated — boycotted 
by all your friends here ?” 

“ I am sure of it. But what does it matter to us, Bertha ? 
Think of the amount of money we have between us. That 
renders us independent of the narrow-minded county 
circle. We can live anywhere we choose.” 

“ The people in London are surely above all narrow- 
minded prejudices.” 

“ They are. You might depend on making a success in 
London. They are constantly on the lookout for a nov- 
elty in London. The inventor of a new religion is the hero 
of the hour. Atheism was the cult a few years ago. It is 
now an indication of old fogyism to mention the word. 
Avowed atheism will never put anyone into parliament 
again. Agnosticism has had its turn. Then came spirit- 
ualism, then theosophy. Meanwhile the day of what idiots 


ON BEING THOUGHT A SCOUNDREL, 237 

called aestheticism came — and went. After several false 
alarms I believe that society in London is given over to the 
worship of the Honest Doubter. He is usually a clergy- 
man with strong convictions. He cannot remain in the 
Established Church because his convictions are too strong, 
and he will not join any other Church because no other 
Church contains members that have precisely the same con- 
victions as his. The Honest Doubter is a clergyman who 
has weak brains, but strong convictions. He is the hero of 
the moment. But you could easily cut him out if you went 
to London. The county families will ask no one to visit 
them who is in any way original ; but in town the original 
man or woman is the honored guest. In fact, the original 
man or woman is the cause of the assembling of guests. 
The hostess of to-day must have a lion on view before the 
other animals can be induced to visit her. Oh, they have 
no narrow-minded prejudices in London, on the subject 
of the private life of their lions ; and if now and again the 
beast turns and rends his hunters, no one minds much. 
There is no hunting lions without a little risk. That’s a 
speech for you.” 

“ I would consider that sort of fame in town worse than 
being boycotted in the country,” said Bertha. “ Never 
mind, my beloved ; we will not boycott each other, you 
and 1.” 

So, then, all’s well,” laughed Julian. 

He had almost come to believe that all was well. 

He had counted the cost — roughly. He had not, of 
course, had a chance of going into the details of the matter 
carefully, but he had fully reckoned on being subjected to 
that isolation, which at one time was alluded to as Cov- 
entry, but which is now termed boycotting, so far as th^ 
county where he lived was concerned. He had traveled, 
and he had a mind of his own, consequently he knew that 
to be deprived of an occasional visit from people who had 


238 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!'* 


put their minds into a sack of guano without any fertilizing 
results accruing from the contact, should not plunge him 
into despair. 

At the same time he could not but feel that the scene 
through which he had passed was an extremely unpleasant 
one. It is always mortifying for a man of some intelligence 
to know that a person quite devoid of intelligence has 
parted from him with a feeling of having got the best of an 
encounter. 

He knew that Lady Rushton would feel that she had, by 
stalking out of the drawing room at the Court, completely 
overwhelmed him and Bertha, and that she would lose no 
time in spreading through the country the story of her 
victory. Therefore, though he had given Bertha to under- 
stand that all was well, he had some misgivings on the 
matter in his own mind. 

He had told Bertha that she might prepare for being 
isolated by the county. He believed that this at least was 
inevitable. Everyone in the county detested Lady Rush- 
ton, but no one had the courage to hold out against her. 
People visited only where she visited. He was therefore 
greatly surprised when he received a card, expressing the 
pleasure that it would give Lord and Lady Ashenthorpe to 
see Mr. and Mrs. Charlton at a garden party at Ashmead 
on the following Friday afternoon. 

After some thought he accepted the invitation. He 
determined that he would give the county to understand 
that it was not his intention to alter his mode of life 
because Lady Rushton had< seen fit to stalk out of his 
wife’s drawing-room with her head in the air. 

He did not expect to have any more visitors during the 
week, but in this matter also he was mistaken. Lunch had 
just been laid on the Wednesday afternoon when Mr. and 
Mrs. Hardy appeared in the one fly that was available at 
the railway station. 


ON BEING THOUGHT A SCOUNDREL. 239 

Bertha and Julian had just returned after a morning’s 
trout fishing in the Purlbrook. They lost no time in 
welcoming their visitors, and Julian took good care that 
his expressions should not be less cordial than those of 
Bertha. 

The secretary of the carnisolists had on, as usual, a black 
suit of that smooth cloth which every villager in the old 
days touched his hat to. . He looked more like a clergy- 
man than ever. He was just a trifle too solemn for the 
part. But the clergyman’s trick of declining to turn his 
head without turning his whole body he had caught to 
perfection. 

With his hat off he looked like a man to be respected — 
say, a butler. 

Mrs. Hardy was smiling in her own way. She would not 
remove her bonnet when sitting down to lunch. Her 
husband not only removed his hat but made preparations 
for removing his cuffs as well, only his host prevented him 
from taking this extreme step. Even though it might be 
an important part of the ceremonial of the carnisolists, 
Julian, thinking of the prejudices of his butler and the new 
footmen, politely insisted on his retaining his cuffs. 

'Mr. Hardy ultimately allowed himself to be persuaded 
against his own instincts of thrift in the laundry depart- 
ment ; but in spite of his compliance Julian Charlton began 
to suspect that he was not altogether a person who was in 
the habit of mingling with the best society. Julian’s experi- 
ence of moderately good society had led him to believe 
that the removal of linen cuffs preparatory to lunch was 
not de rigueur. 

Mr. Hardy seemed to have none of the prejudices of the 
carnisolists so far as diet was concerned. He partook lib- 
erally and indiscriminately of every dish that was offered 
to him — of the animal, vegetable, and lobster-salad king- 
doms — of the product of the vineyard and olive-yard alike. 


240 “/ FORBID THE BANNS H' 

His freedom in this way placed Julian at his ease, though 
he feared that it might not have the same effect upon Mr. 
Hardy himself. 

As for Mrs. Hardy, she was almost as indiscriminate in 
her diet, though she took good care to acquaint her niece 
with the elementary properties of every dish. She knew 
the flesh-formers from the fat-formers, and partook of both. 

Julian received his visitors with some misgivings at first ; 
for he thought it was very likely that he would be required 
to enter into some explanation to Bertha’s relation regard- 
ing her presence at his house — a matter which required to 
be very delicately touched upon, and one which was not 
susceptible of explanation except to persons who had suc- 
ceeded in freeing their minds from a prejudice that was 
almost universal. 

Now, as he questioned very much if Mr. and Mrs. Hardy 
were accustomed to approach the consideration of the mar- 
riage question with wholly unbiased minds, he felt that he 
might have more or less difficulty in satisfying them that 
the domestic system which had been adopted at the Court 
was founded on the truest principles. When, however, he 
found them both greatly interested in their lunch, and 
referring, when they had time, to the varied charms of a 
country life and the excellent quality of the timber of the 
park, he came to the conclusion that their visit was a con- 
gratulatory one, and not one of inquiry. They were clearly 
satisfied, he felt, at the step which their niece had taken. 

He found out, however, when he had given Mr. Hardy a 
large cigar, and had led him to the billiard room after 
lunch, that Bertha’s aunt’s husband was not disposed to pass 
over the matter of Julian’s relations with Bertha in silence. 
In fact it became clear to him that Mr. Hardy, at any rate, 
had paid his visit with other than congratulatory intentions. 

The door of the billiard room was scarcely shut when he 
turned to his host. 


ON BEING THOUGHT A SCOUNDREL. 241 

“ It is, I suppose, unnecessary for me to ask you, Mr. 
Charlton,” said he, “ if the system upon which you and my 
wife’s niece are living here is that which she has made no 
secret of holding — you are not married ? ” 

“ We arc most certainly married,” said Charlton ; “ not, 
perhaps, as people who regulate their actions in accordance 
with the prejudices — the artificial prejudices — of society 
regard being married, but most certainly married. I con- 
sider myself bound to your wife’s niece by a stronger tie 
than any that can be woven by the Church or by the law 
of the land.” 

“No doubt,” said Mr. Hardy. “But, you see, we are 
living in the midst of a society that is held together only 
by what you may call prejudices. Marriage is one of these 
— the legal ceremony of marriage, I should say, to put 
myself on your level. If it was not understood by the peo- 
ple who constitute a civilized community that, for a man 
and a woman to live together without their union being 
sanctioned by law — I do not say religion — was a social mis- 
demeanor, society would not hold together for a day.” 

“ That is begging the question, Mr. Hardy,” said Julian. 

“ It is making a statement which is justified by facts,” 
said Mr. Hardy. “ Men daily desert their wives, in spite 
of the fact that the law punishes them for so doing. What 
would they do, might I ask you, if no penalty were attached 
to the offense — that is, if a man did not make himself 
amenable to the law by becoming a party to a civil con- 
tract involving certain obligations ? Why, the world would 
be full of deserted wives.” 

“ That is certainly taking a very cynical view of marriage 
as an institution, Mr. Hardy. What Bertha holds — what I 
hold — is that, if marriage is founded upon true affection, 
the tie will be regarded as sacred by the man and the 
woman without the necessity for any civil contract sanc- 
tioned by law and society being entered into. Pray light 


242 I FORBID THE BANNS I'* 

your cigar ; I have no wish to discuss with you a point 
which cannot be appreciated except by those who have 
studied it in all its bearings, with a mind altogether free 
from prejudice.” 

“ I have no desire to discuss it either, Mr. Charlton ; 
but I know what men and women are, and I know that men 
are mostly scoundrels, so far as women are concerned, and 
that women are mostly fools so far as men are concerned. 
Matters are bad enough even with the civil contract of 
marriage protecting society from the scoundrelism of 
man and from the folly of women ; what it would be 
if that fad of my wife’s niece became common, I can 
guess.” 

It strikes me, Mr. Hardy, that your reference to a fad 
scarcely comes gracefully from you.” 

“ You believe me to be an old fool, I suppose ? ” 

“ I believe you to be the secretary and founder of the 
Carnisolist Society — that is what you call it, I think.” 

“ Never mind the Carnisolist Society, sir ; we must all 
live. I know that you both think that you are superior to the 
majority of the men and women in the world — that the laws 
which may be good enough for them, keeping them square 
and so forth, are not for you — that you will be a law unto 
yourselves, and set up as the pioneers of a new and select 
faith — a faith that will reform the world ; but I know that 
the hearts of human beings are very human — even of the 
most select human beings ; and I know that your new reli- 
gion will break down under the first strain that is put on it. 
If you love that young woman truly, I pity you when you 
see her surrounded by attractive men — or, perhaps, by the 
side of one attractive man — and you feel that she is your 
wife only so long as it pleases her to be so. I pity her, too, 
when she sees you in the midst of a number of attractive 
women — or, perhaps, by the side of one particularly attrac- 
tive woman — and she feels that you are bound to her by no 


ON- BEING THOUGHT A SCOUNDREL. 243 

tie except one that is purely imaginative — I will not say 
illusive. Above all, I pity your children.” 

“ You are at liberty to take any view you please of the 
course we have adopted,” said Charlton when his visitor 
had spoken. “ I am not sure that you can claim to be 
looked on as a wholly disinterested critic. I am not sure if 
that man Vicars, who was living at your house, gave you 
to understand what his views were in respect of your wife’s 
niece ; but I fancy that, in removing Bertha out of his 
power and, perhaps, out of your power and away from your 
associations, I have done well. So far I have nothing to 
reproach myself with. Now, I decline to discuss the matter 
further with you or with anyone else.” 

“You are right there, sir,” said Mr. Hardy. “The less 
you discuss the matter the better it will be — for yourself. 
But you cannot altogether crush down the consciousness, 
which you now and again have, of behaving like a scoun- 
drel in failing to protect that young woman against herself 
— in being a party to that foolish fancy of hers. Now and 
again you feel a bit uneasy, I know ; for a man cannot get 
rid of his conscience all in a moment, any more than a man 
can get rid of the rheumatism all at once. Conscience is 
the rheumatism of the soul — it never quite leaves one. Its 
twinges may not be felt for some time, but they come with 
increased force when they return — as return they will. 
Now I have said what I came here to say, and I can depart 
in peace.” 

“ You can,” said Julian. “ You have spoken according 
to your lights, I dare say ; but such lights as yours are 
rush-lights, Mr. Hardy.” 

“ Perhaps so, Mr. Charlton,” said Mr. Hardy. “ But I 
take leave to hold that there are worse lights than rush- 
lights, sir. There is the ignis fatuus., for instance, that 
leads people up to the neck in a marsh ; and there is the 
St. Elmo light that heralds a storm. I am better satisfied 


244 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


to be guided by my poor rush-light than by a brilliant 
Will-o’-the-wisp or a corpse candle. You will think of 
what I have said when you are alone, and you will know 
that I have spoken the truth. Good-by to you, Mr. 
Charlton — good-by. You have a fine house, and you are 
rather more than less human than the majority of men who 
have lived in the world until they have passed their thirtieth 
year. Good-by ! ” 

Nothing that Bertha could say to Mr. Hardy could in- 
duce him to prolong his visit. He left with his wife almost 
immediately. Julian did not ask him to remain, but he 
shook hands with him at parting. 

He felt that this was a concession. It is not every man 
who will shake hands with another who has all but called 
him a scoundrel. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


ON THE SMILE AND THE FROWN. 

W HEN Julian Charlton was alone he began to laugh at 
the idea of the founder of the carnisolists preaching a 
sermon upon the iniquity of yielding to what he called fads. 
Mr. Hardy was, he felt, in the position of the merchant who 
declared that honesty was the best policy, having tried the 
opposite and found that it did not answer. 

But when his laugh was over he began to feel that his 
visitor had not proved himself by his conversation to be 
quite as great a fool as Julian fancied he was, knowing his 
connection with the carnisolists. He recollected that he 
himself had spoken to Bertha pretty much as Mr. Hardy 
had spoken to him, on the subject of marriage as a legal 
contract. 

Had the past three weeks caused him to think differently 
on the subject, he asked himself. Had he really come to 
feel that Bertha was quite right? He had talked to Mr. 
Hardy of lights — had he himself acted according to his lights 
in bringing Bertha down to his house, and in keeping her 
there? 

One of those twinges of which Mr. Hardy had also spoken 
made him writhe for a moment, nor did its effects wholly pass 
aw^ay when he recollected what his visitor had sai^ regarding 
the possibility of his feeling ill at ease when he might 
chance to see Bertha surrounded by attractive men who 
would be charmed with her, and who might probably seek 
to charm her in return. He had known several attractive 
men, and the result of recalling them was not to reassure 
him. He had known several attractive men who were dis- 


245 


246 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


tinctly unscrupulous — in fact, it had never been known that 
they were attractive until they had proved themselves to be 
unscrupulous. Was it possible that he should feel uneasy 
watching Bertha surrounded by men determined to make 
themselves charming to her ; or, what would be more fatal 
still, men who would be charming to her without exercis- 
ing any determination in the matter? 

He had a few moments of unquiet thought. Then he 
gave an exclamation of impatience. 

He fancied that he had worked out the problem which he 
had set himself, and that the conclusion to which he had 
come — namely, that Mr. Hardy was an old fool — was a sat- 
isfactory one. 

He was under the impression that Bertha’s aunt had had 
a chat with her on the subject upon which Mr. Hardy had 
chosen to converse in the billiard room ; but he did not put 
any inquiry to Bertha regarding the import of her interview 
alone with her aunt, and Bertha did not volunteer to tell him 
anything. 

He had never seen her look more charming than on the 
afternoon of Lord Ashenthorpe’s garden party. As he helped 
her up to the seat beside him on the high mail phaeton in 
which they were about to drive the six miles to Ashmead, he 
could not help feeling that Mr. Hardy had certainly shown 
himself to be a fool in suggesting that he, Charlton, would 
ever give Bertha cause for feeling all at ease, even when she 
might chance to see him by the side of the most attractive 
woman in society. What was the most attractive woman 
compared to Bertha? 

And so he sent his pair of horses prancing down the 
avenue. 

Lord Ashenthorpe was an under secretary for some depart- 
ment, and he had only run down to his place in Bracken- 
shire for a few days during the Whitsun holidays — the 
Church festival occurred early this year. He was the eldest 


ON THE SMILE AND THE FROWN. 


247 


son of the Marquis of Brackenshire, and he was one of the 
members for the county. He had gained a reputation wjth 
the government for being the best man to bewilder in amaze 
of words any member of the opposition who asked an awk- 
ward question. Such a gift is becoming more valuable every 
day in the House of Commons; consequently the value of 
Lord Ashenthorpe was appreciably increasing in the eyes of 
the government. They had even some thought of making 
him Chief Secretary for Ireland, in order to prevent the possi- 
bility of his faculty becoming dull through disuse. It would 
be certain to remain bright if he were to become Chief Secre- 
tary for Ireland. 

He declined to accept the Irish portfolio. It was all very 
well for a man who was a bachelor, who was short-sighted, 
and who could look back on a youth well spent in the study 
of Christian evidences and golf to yawn the Irish members 
into a frenzy. For his part. Lord Ashenthorpe declared 
that, having none of these qualifications for success as chief 
secretary — he could not even yawn at will — he preferred 
remaining in a humbler sphere of usefulness. 

The county made an imposing display at the garden party. 
LoM Ashenthorpe could not afford to neglect anyone who 
had electioneering interest. He looked forward to the time 
when all the licensed victualers within the constituency 
would be invited to such a function as a garden party, and 
when the chiefs of the miners’ trade organization would be 
found choosing their partners for lawn tennis. He felt 
certain that if he could only get the leaders of the temper- 
ance party down to a garden party at Ashmead, he could 
convince them that he was perfectly sound on local 
option; but he also knew that the temperance leaders are 
more objectionable socially than the heads of the miners’ 
organization whom he hoped to convince as to his sound- 
ness on the eight hours’ question. He believed that he 
could make them think that he was sound even on a seven 


248 I FORBID THE BANNS 

hours’ question or, if it came to that, on a six hours’ ques- 
tion. Just as the young man who has no other means of 
subsistence than taking holy orders is ready to subscribe 
conscientiously not only to thirty-nine but to forty articles, 
if necessary, so the conscientious politician will, when the 
rumors of a general election are in the air, accept the six 
hours’ principle to get the votes of the working men, who 
like every good thing except work. He will also express 
the soundest of views — that is to say, views that sound best 
— on local option, to try to catch the temperance party; but 
he will not refrain from hinting on the following day, in 
order to catch the publicans, what the government might 
reasonably be expected to do in abolishing the duty on beer 
— the natural beverage of the working man, especially when 
he is doing no work: when he is working he gets drunk, the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer assures us, upon rum. 

Lord Ashenthorpe had confidence in his own ability to 
satisfy all shades of social politicians— that is to say, he 
knew that he could lead them one by one into a maze of words 
and leave them there. Modern politics he knew to be wholly 
a matter of promises. The most promising Liberal candidate 
is the candidate who is most liberal with his promises. 

The first person seen by Bertha when she had dismounted 
from the phaeton was Lady Rushton, in the center of her 
group of plain daughters, with a husband that seemed a poor 
sort of thing behind her. She gave a gasp when she saw 
Bertha, and turned to Sir Edwin with uplifted hands and 
voice, calling his attention and the attention of everyone else 
within a considerable radius to the fact that Mr. Charlton 
and That Woman had actually had the effrontery to appear 
among respectable people. 

Sir Edwin was a poor thing, but he was a man; and he 
came to the conclusion that That Woman was an extremely 
handsome woman, and that she dismounted from the high 
phaeton with infinite grace. 


ON THE SMILE AND THE FROWN. 249 

“Thank Heaven that you are not a statesman, .Sir Edwin,” 
said Lady Rushton as Bertha walked along by the side of 
Julian to where the wife of the under secretary was receiv- 
ing her guests. “Thank Heaven that you are not a states- 
man.” 

“So I do,” said Sir Edwin. “But why?” 

“Why?” cried the matron. “You see ” — shejerked 
her sunshade in the direction of Bertha — “and yet you ask 
me why?” 

“She seems actually pretty,” said Sir Edwin. He felt in 
his secret heart that he would with resignation submit to be 
regarded as a statesman, if his duties included receiving many 
women so charming as That Woman who was now walking 
by the side of Charlton. '*Vera incessu patuit he 

murmured, observing her graceful gait. 

“Pretty!” said Lady Rushton. “We do not criticise 
such creatures. Come away; we cannot talk of her before 
the children; the children shall not be contaminated if I can 
help it. Is it not monstrous to ask such people, simply 
because Charlton has influence in the county — had influence, 
I should rather say? He can have none now. The county 
was' pure — invariably pure, until he brought that contamina- 
tion here. And Lord Ashenthorpe invites them here ! So 
much for the government! Sir Edwin, their days are 
numbered! Whatever we may be in England, we are pure. 
Our beloved sovereign has set us an example in this way — a 
noble example! England is not France, thank Heaven! 
And to think that that — wretch is wearing a costume that 
I know came from Mme. John Smith’s of Regent Street, 
and must have cost fifty guineas, while my daughters — my 
pure daughters, poor things, are compelled to put up with 
the plainest of Tussores! Oh, this world! this world! 
Heaven be praised that I had time to spread her shame 
among most of the families who are present! Oh, to be a 
statesman ! ” 


250 


I FORBID THE BANNS! 


She had drawn her circle away from the, front of the house 
and in the direction of one of the summerhouses — the chief 
feature of Ashmead. — where tea was being served. The 
approach of the family of Rushton was sufficient to send 
flying all the youths who were in the neighborhood. They 
looked forward to such pleasures as were not wholly asso- 
ciated with plain daughters. Another matron was in the 
summerhouse partaking of tea, and into her ear Lady 
Rushton poured the story of That Woman’s' appearance. 
There was much uplifting of matronly hands and eyes and 
voices. . 

Meantime the under secretary and his wife had welcomed 
Charlton and Bertha. So they would have welcomed Baal 
and Ashtoreth if they had appeared decently dressed, and 
had influence with the electors. 

Lady Ashenthorpe was a Personage. That she had become 
a Personage proved that she possessed a large amount of 
tact, and an infinite fund of smiles, no two alike. She had 
tact enough to perceive that Bertha was wearing a costume 
which, for beauty, was not likely to be matched in the 
county, and also that Bertha wore it as if she had never 
worn anything else all her life; consequently she brought 
forth out of her treasury her most gracious smile, and sunned 
Bertha with it for thirty seconds; at the expiration of that 
time another smile had been slipped over the first, as the 
dexterous manipulator of the magic lantern makes one picture 
dissolve into another. A new guest had come up and was 
being received by Lord Ashenthorpe. 

The under secretary knew Julian Charlton well. He. 
had heard that Julian had brought a wife home to the Court, 
consequently he had seen that Mrs. Charlton’s name was 
put in the invitation card. He now found that the wife 
whom Charlton had brought home was an extremely pretty 
woman. He made up his mind that he would have half an 
hour’s conversation with her in the course of the afternoon. 


ON THE SMILE AND THE FROWN. 


251 


Perhaps he might even get his wife to ask her to dinner. 
He thought that, by judiciously exaggerating the influence 
that Charlton possessed in the county, Lady Ashenthorpe 
might consent to ask Mrs. Charlton to dinner. 

Cyril Southcote was at hand, and the retreating figure of 
Marian Travers was seen in the distance as Julian and 
Bertha came out from the Presence. 

“ ‘The world is not all so bitter, but her smile can make 
it sweet,’ ” said Cyril, gracefully indicating the Presence. 

“A delightful woman,” said Bertha. ‘Ts not that Miss 
Travers who ran away as we came up?” 

“You are right on both points, Mrs. Charlton,” said Cyril. 
“The delightful woman is Lady Ashenthorpe, and the other 
is Miss Travers.” 

“I did not suggest anything like that,” said Bertha. “Miss 
Travers is very delightful too. She ran away.” 

“Quite so,” said Cyril. ‘T did not like to put it so 
strong myself; one can always depend on a woman for help- 
ing one out in a difficult matter such as this.” 

“Why did Miss Travers run away?” asked Bertha. 

“A dear friend — a young girl — appeared in the distance 
in pink. A lowering of the eyebrows to make certain — a 
corresponding lifting of the hands — a cry of ‘my beloved 
Polly!’ — a school friend not seen for years, I learn, and I 
find myself alone.” 

“Oh, that is why she ran away?’’ said Bertha. 

“Have I not given you a graphic explanation?” said 
Cyril. 

“It could not be more graphic if you had invented it,” 
said Bertha. 

“You do not mean to imply ” 

“That you invented the explanation? Certainly not. I 
only wish to imply that I regard you as an artist— a clever 
colorist is the exact phrase of the critics, I believe.” 

“I accept your commendation in a spirt of humility not 


252 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


common among artists. And now admit to me in confi- 
dence that you are greatly impressed with our summer func- 
tion — the common or garden party. My own belief is that 
it would be tolerable if it were not for the garden.” 

“And I think that it would be delightful if it were not for 
the party. I saw Lady Rushton. Lady Rushton rushed 
off when she saw me.” 

“Never mind Lady Rushton,” interposed Julian. “We 
shall have to look forward to some years of life in this world 
apart from the patronage of Lady Rushton. Let us go down 
to the lawn; I must greet some of our neighbors whom I 
have not seen for nearly three years.” 

“The meeting and the greeting will be affecting,” said 
Cyril. “I must find out what manner of schoolgirl is Miss 
Travers’ ‘dearest Polly’; I rather like schoolgirls, when they 
have passed the giggling stage and have reached the inquir- 
ing point. And yet it seems a pity that they should ever be 
led to inquire. Alas! the spirit of inquiry has proved fatal 
to many women since Eve set them the example. That which 
is forbidden is that which is inquired after. Au revoir." 

He walked off in the direction which Marian Travers had 
taken, leaving Bertha and Julian to make their way to the 
lawn, where many groups were to be seen endeavoring to 
hear as little of the band as possible. It is not possible to 
ignore a military band in full swing, but it can be abated in 
some measure by judicious conversation. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


ON SHORT SIGHT AND OTHER INFIRMITIES. 

I T was, after all, Julian Charlton felt, the best thing that 
he could do — to walk boldly into the midst of the many 
groups composed almost exclusively of Brackenshire families. 
He felt that he had better give them to understand that he 
had no intention of coming furtively to the garden party or 
of stealing furtively about the grounds now that he had come. 
He knew, of course, that Lady Rushton had been describing 
to all the county the scene in which she had played the 
part of the virtuous heroine, in the drawing room at the 
Court; and he knew that the same lady was now talking to 
such of her friends as she could bring together upon the 
enormity of Lady Ashenthorpe’s offense in asking to meet 
respectable and even virtuous people, a young woman who 
was living in the house with a man to whom she had not been 
married. 

The best way to show that he was not afraid of anything 
that Lady Rushton might say was to face all the people on 
the lawn. 

He did so. 

Of one thing he was certain — there was no woman on the 
lawn who could compare with Bertha either in respect of 
beauty or dress. She was infinitely above the most distin- 
guished of the county guests of Lady Ashenthorpe. 

This he knew; but he was not quite convinced in his mind 
that the county ladies would be more disposed to be friendly 
with Bertha by reason of this fact. They might be disposed 
to forgive her for taking so remarkable a view of the sanctity 
of marriage, but it was unlikely that they would condone 

253 


254 


“/ FORBID THE BANNSi 


the fact of her beauty, or, above all, the f ict that she was 
the best dressed woman at Ashmead. 

The way she was received on coming among them could 
not be regarded as cordial. Some of the ladies turned round 
and deliberately fled before her approach. Others who had 
been watching her, and plainly talking about her, turned 
their backs as she came near, and pointed out some object 
of interest in the distance — possibly an old school friend 
— to those who were beside them. Others who possessed 
the advantage of being short-sighted did not stir. They 
simply raised their pince-nez and, with their chins slightly ele- 
vated, stared at her through the glasses. The coldly crit- 
ical insolence of these last mentioned people was worthy of 
the best London society, Julian felt. He knew that such a 
manifestation could be called for only in an extreme case. 
A lapse from the straight path of virtue would not have 
received such criticism, nor would the appearance of a face 
and figure so much more striking than their own. It was 
the costume which Mme. John Smith of Regent Street con- 
sidered her noblest achievement of the season that demanded 
the most emphatic expression of the contempt of the county. 

Bertha somewhat disconcerted a few of the ladies who 
gazed at her through spectacles mounted upon a tortoise- 
shell handle by laughing pleasantly in their. faces. 

“They do it so clumsily,” she remarked, by no means 
inaudibly, to Julian. “They are poor imitations of Mr. Du 
Maurier’s duchesses. They are playing at tableaux vivants^ 
and showing themselves to be clumsy amateurs. Is this 
your county?” 

“This is the county,” said Julian. “It is Lord Ashen- 
thorpe’s county — not mine, thank God.” 

He felt furious. He would not so much have minded 
the flight of some of the ladies, or the back-turning of 
others, but the insolent stare through the spectacles with the 
tortoise-shell handles was to him most exasperating. 


ON SHORT SIGHT AND OTHJ^R INFIRMITIES. 255 


Before he had gone across the lawn, however, he found 
that he was not likely to be allowed to finish his promenade 
alone by the side of Bertha. If the ladies turned their 
backs upon her and fled from her, the men — except such 
as had wives present — showed no desire to do the same. 
Julian found himself greeted by a number of men whom he 
had known before setting out on his travels. They greeted 
him with something of enthusiasm, and asked to be pre- 
sented to Mrs. Charlton. Perhaps they laid a trifle too 
great emphasis upon the Mrs. Charlton. T^ey also were 
amateurs. ; .0 

Julian, without hesitation, presented at least half^a dozen 
men — two of them the best partis in the county — tojjpertha, 
and then he felt an arm on his own. 

He found that it was the arm of a man- wbo had been his 
most intimate of school and college friends.^^ 

“Come away from the madding crowd,’* whispered the 
man, “and tell me all that you have seen and all that you 
have learned by your travels — 'you can do it inside ten min- 
utes, I can swear.” 

“Give me fifteen,” said Julian, suffering himself to be led 
away by his friend. 

He found that his friend did not want to hear about his 
travels, but was only anxious to tell Julian about his own. 
Julian was not quite so absorbed in his friend’s narrative as 
to be incapable of noticing the effect which had been pro- 
duced upon the ladies of the groups on the lawn when they 
perceived, by the aid of their spectacles, that Bertha was 
the center of a group of men — some of them the most angled- 
for men in the county. Eligible men are no more plentiful 
in Brackenshire than they are in any other county in Eng- 
land; consequently they are prized as they deserve to be. 
They have latterly shown a remarkable inclination to look 
for wives outside their own county, and this wildness is being 
made the subject of constant reproach by the matrons of 


256 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


Brackenshire. Now when they saw that That Woman — 
Bertha was already familiarly known in this way — was 
attracting the attention of the most eligible men, simply 
because she had a good figure, and had been well treated 
by her dressmaker, they made no attempt to conceal their 
indignation. 

Julian watched them with some malice in his heart, and 
not for a considerable time did he turn to where he had left 
Bertha. 

She was not there. 

The narrative of his own familiar friend became verv 
tame, in spite of the fact that, although it dealt with shoot- 
ing in the Rocky Mountains, it bordered on the probable 
every now and again. 

Where was Bertha? 

He followed the gaze of the ladies on the lawn — they were 
more indignant than ever — and he saw that Bertha was now 
standing apart from where she had been, and that only one 
man was by her side. 

She was looking very frankly into the man’s face, and he 
was replying with the frankest look of admiration possible 
to imagine on a face that is incapable of suggesting any 
emotion. 

They were evidently mutually responsive, Julian per- 
ceived, and he knew that for them to be responsive meant 
that they were well pleased with one another. Suddenly he 
became once more conscious of that feeling which had come 
to him for the first time in his life when he had seen Eric 
Vicars grasp Bertha by both her hands on coming aboard 
the steamer in the dock. 

It returned to him with the effect as of a sudden stab with 
a sharp instrument. He kept his eyes fixed upon her. She 
laughed at something that the man beside her had said, and 
her face lighted up at that moment. 

He had an impulse to rush to her and take her away from 


ON SHORT SIGHT AND OTHER INFIRMITIES. 257 

the man with whom she was conversing — on whom she was 
smiling. He had an impulse to make her climb to her place 
on the phaeton, and to drive her away to the Court out of 
sight of every human being but himself. 

Again Bertha laughed. Then she said something that 
caused her companion to laugh. He did not look like a 
man who was given to laughter or smiles, but now he laughed. 

The ladies on the lawn looked meaningly at one another, 
and smiled. 

He saw them do so, and then his eyes returned to Bertha 
and her companion. 

They were beginning to stroll round to where a seat had 
been made about the trunk of a weeping ash. 

They were still absorbed in one another. 

And all the time that he was observing this his friend was 
droning away about the Rocky Mountains and his marvel- 
ous escapes from bears. Charlton had become so accus- 
tomed to associate tergiversation with stories of bears that 
he had at last come to doubt the truth of the bear story told 
by David the son of Jesse. Bertha and her companion dis- 
appeared beneath the shadowy branches of the accommodat- 
ing ash. 

All at once there flashed upon the mind of Julian Charlton 
the thought: 

‘ 'She is nothing to me more than any other woman.* ^ 

It was quickly followed by a more disturbing thought still: 

“/ am nothing to her more than any other man.** 

Where had he heard those words before? 

He recollected, after a time, that they had come from Mr. 
Hardy. He had in substance said, “I pity you when you 
see her by the side of some other man and reflect that she 
is bound to you by no tie.” 

Was it possible that that middle-aged man, who had no 
claim to be regarded as a gentleman, had displayed wisdom 
in this prophecy of his? 


258 “/ FORBID THE BANNS!'' , 

He had alluded to Mr. Hardy as an old fool. Could it 
be possible that, after all, it was he himself who had been 
the fool, while Mr. Hardy was the wise man? 

He was beginning to fear that he was attaining to a com- 
plete knowledge of the meaning of that sensation which had 
come to him with the suddenness of a sharp stab, first when 
he had seen Eric Vicars grasping the two hands of Bertha, 
and again when he had seen Bertha smiling up to the face of 
the man by whose side she was now sitting, wholly hidden 
by the weeping ash. 

Jealousy — jealousy — jealousy was the word that sounded 
in his ears like the strange rhythm of an incantation. It 
occurred to him that he was the victim of an incantation. 
He remembered one that he had read. The doom of the 
man — his name was Manfred — was in the line. 

Thou shalt never be alone. 

His doom was just the opposite, he felt: he was to be for- 
ever alone. He loved with all his soul that beautiful girl 
who had gone away froiA him — this was how he put the 
matter — with another man, and yet she was bound to him 
by no tie. He had no power to go to her and bring her 
back to his side. 

He had talked freely of the indissoluble nature of the ties 
woven by love and love only. He had talked of that blessed 
mingling of souls which constituted a true marriage. What 
part did jealousy play in this scheme of social reform, he 
asked himself. If soul had mingled with soul, so that they 
were not two souls, but one, how could jealousy find a 
crevice in which to lodge? 

“My God!” he cried inwardly. “Is it possible that I 
have been deceiving myself all along? Is it possible that I 
have deceived her all along? Is it possible that I have 
brought her into my house under a pretense — the pretense that 
I felt the truth of her theories regarding love and marriage?” 


ON SHORT SIGHT AND OTHER INFIRMITIES. 259 

His thoughts smote him as if his soul had been a play- 
thing, that may be buffeted for the pure enjoyment of the 
thing; and all the time there was that dull, monotonous, 
gnawing pain that forced him to keep his eyes fixed upon 
that natural dome of leafage beneath which Bertha and her 
companion were CQncealed. 

“And so, my dear Julian, as I told you, the seventh 
grizzly was persuaded by the application of my third bullet to 
lie down quietly at the foot of the canon ; and then I found 
when I came to skin the brute — I’ll show you the skin the 
first time you drop round — I found, I say, that there was 
only one bullet wound in the whole skin. The fact was 
that I had taken such good aim for the one vulnerable part 
the second bullet had simply come upon the first, pushing it 
in an inch or two, and the third upon the second; and so my 
forty-second grizzly ’’ 

“What, you here, Mr. Charlton?’’ cried Marian Travers, 
who was passing behind where Julian and his bear-slaying 
friend were standing. ‘T hope you will put in a good word 
for Cyril with Sir Ecroyd. Cyril thinks he should like to 
become Administrator of the Calipash territory, and Sir 
Ecroyd has only to say the word and the matter is 
settled.” 

“And who, may I ask, is Sir Ecroyd?” said Julian. 

‘ ‘What ! ’ ' cried Miss T ravers, ‘ ‘did you not see Sir Ecroyd 
Fairleigh — the Minister of the Annexation Department? 
Why, everyone is talking of Mrs. Charlton’s conquest.” 

“Is it Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh' who is talking to my wife?” 
asked Julian. 

“To be sure it is,” said Marian. “Everyone was under 
the impression that Sir Ecroyd was a confirmed woman-hater, 
and that he was devoted to his duties to the exclusion of 
everything sentimental. You can imagine our astonishment 
when he asked Lord Ashenthorpe to present him to Mrs. 
Charlton. He is a guest at Ashmead for the Whitsuntide 


26 o 


FORBID THE BA HNS/ 


recess. Where is he now — I should say, where are //ley 
now?” 

“I really cannot say,” said Julian. “I have been so 
deeply engrossed in the stories my friend Mr. Claxton has 
been telling me about how he shot — shot tigers in Kashmir 
— or was it hyenas in South Africa? — I h^d neither eyes nor 
ears for the incidents of this nether world.” 

“Oh, come,” said the sporting friend, deprecating such 
flattery; “it really was only a singular incident regarding one 
of my bear hunts in the Rockies that I was telling him. Miss 
Travers — quite a trifle compared to what I could tell. If 
you have a minute to spare, perhaps ” 

“Ah, I never have a minute to spare, Mr. Claxton,” said 
Marian. “I prefer taking my fiction through the medium 
of a magazine or a scientific lecture. Pray do not forget to 
say the good word for poor Cyril, Mr. Charlton. They tell 
me that all the best government appointments are made in this 
way. To think that the Annexation Department should be 
the last to succumb! Sir Ecroyd is human, after all!” 

With the pleasantest little laugh, she continued her stroll. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


ON THE HABITS OF AQUATIC FOWL. 

is too clever a girl for my fancy, Julian,” remarked 
O the bear-slayer — to be more exact, the narrator of stories 
regarding the slaying of bears — when Miss Travers had 
passed. ‘ T don’t think it is good style for girls to be clever. 
They say she engaged herself to that fellow Southcote. I 
wish them luck of one another. Now, what’s the matter with 
a stroll to the whiskey shanty, where I’ll make you a genuine 
Hallelujah gin blizzard? I learned the secret in a poker 
saloon pretty far West — of which more anon.” 

“No,” ,said Julian; ‘T want nothing in that line.” 

‘Tn what line?” 

“In that line — whatever it is.” 

“You are a trifle distracted, Julian.” 

“And you are the distracter, Jimmy.” 

“You are not yourself, Julian — that’s what the matter 
with you.” 

“And you are quite yourself, Jimmy — that’s what’s the 
matter with you.” 

“You are unhappy.” 

“And you are unhealthy.” 

“Hallo, Charlton, I have been looking everywhere for 
you,” said Lord Ashenthorpe, hurrying up at that moment. 
“Where is Fairleigh?” 

“I must ask that notice be given of that question,” said 
Julian. 

“Very good — very good, indeed,” said the under secre- 
tary. “You have caught the trick of it, and, after all, that’s 
half the battle in politics.” 


261 


262 


‘/ FORBID THE BANNS/" 


“What — tricks?” 

“No; the official style, I mean. You must enter the 
House.” 

“Which?” 

“My dear Charlton, there is only one House. To be 
sure, there is a place above to which we must all go some 
day,” and Lord Ashenthorpe sighed. 

“When we die? Theology doesn’t say that it is absolutely 
necessary to go above.” 

“When our fathers die,” said Lord Ashenthorpe. “But, 
thank Heaven, the marquis is as hale as ever. I will not be 
forced into the Upper Chamber just yet awhile.” 

“How easily one maybe misled,” said Charlton; “I really 
fancied that you were alluding to Paradise.” 

“Ah, because there is no knight there — not even a baronet 
— nothing under a baron,” said Mr. Claxton, with a laugh 
that would be useful for blasting operations among the Rocky 
Mountains. 

“The House of Lords is in some people’s mind a fore- 
taste of Paradise,” said Lord Ashenthorpe. 

“Just as the House of Commons is a foretaste of' ” 

“Come, now, Charlton, no theology at a garden party,” 
said the under secretary. “Have you seen Sir Ecroyd?” 

‘ T believe that Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh is with my wife under 
that tree,” said Julian. 

“What, you are not acquainted with him? Oh, come 
along, he will be delighted — so will you. A capital fellow ! 
The very man for the Annexation Department!” 

“Indeed I the very man for the Annexation Department, ’ ’ 
repeated Julian. 

“He asked me to present him to your wife. That is why 
I am going to present you.” 

“That is hardly a sufficient reason. Lord Ashenthorpe,” 
said Julian, suffering himself to be led toward the ash — the 
weeping ash. 


ON THE HABITS OF A CQ VATIC FOWL. 263 

“Why, your travels have made you cynical, Charlton,” 
said Lord Ashenthorpe. 

They parted the graceful boughs and got beneath the 
dome of leaves. 

“Hallo! what’s this?” cried the under secretary. 

They were standing alone under the shade of the ash. 
The seat around the trunk bore neither Bertha nor Sir 
Ecroyd. 

“The portfolio of the Annexation Department is no 
honorary one,” remarked Julian. 

‘ ‘You said that Fairleigh was here with your wife. Perhaps 
it was another ash — there are plenty of ashes at Ashmead.” 

“And dust,” said Julian. “Yes, I saw them on their way 
here. ” 

“They have gone elsewhere since then — so much is cer- 
tain,” said the host. “Let us try some of the summer- 
houses.” 

Charlton allowed himself to be led away by Lord Ashen- 
thorpe in the direction of a summerhouse, almost wholly 
concealed among the thick laurels of one of the moupds arti- 
ficially introduced by the landscape gardener who had 
planned Ashmead. 

A young couple were sitting within the summerhouse, 
doing their best not to look guilty. Charlton wondered if the 
parliamentary experience of the Minister of the Annexation 
Department would stand him in good stead were he to try 
and look comparatively innocent. 

“These summerhouses, Charlton, ’ ’ said Lord Ashenthorpe, 
hurrying away, “have brought about more matches than the 
most designing of matrons. My wife said it would be an 
insult to your host to avoid making love in nooks such as 
these. Now where can those young things be?” 

They were not in any of the summerhouses — the search 
for them in these nooks caused much incidental swearing 
among the temporary settlers. 


264 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


Not for some time were they discovered. 

They were standing close together by the brink of a piece 
of ornamental water. The Minister of the Annexation De- 
partment had his hands full — it was publicly said that he 
usually had his hands full. But now they were full of broken 
pieces of cake and other delicacies, and out of this store 
Bertha was feeding the water-fowl. 

“What an idyl!” said Lord Ashenthorpe. “Upon my 
word, that picture should be enough to drive politics and 
ambition and — and a desire to be of service to one’s country 
by keeping the opposition as long as possible on the oppo- 
sition benches, out of one’s head. What can the town give 
one that could compare with this? What does Horace say 
— ah, never mind.’’ 

“If Horace says ‘never mind’ he gives some excellent 
advice, ’’ said Sir Ecroyd, selecting a large and luscious piece 
of plum cake from his samples, and handing it to Bertha, 
“One sympathizes with the ducks,’’ he continued. “But I 
suppose they can digest everything — even a plum cake like 
a thirty-two pound shot.’’ 

“Fairleigh, let me present to you Mr. Charlton,’’ said 
Lord Ashenthorpe. 

The Minister of the Annexation Department lifted his hat; 
Charlton did the same with his. Each man critically 
regarded the other for some seconds — exactly as if they 
had been rivals. Neither gave the least sign. They had 
lived in the world too long. 

“Sir Ecroyd and I have done all the exploring of Ash- 
mead,’’ said Bertha, when she had thrown a sponge cake into 
the parted shells of a duck’s beak. “We went under all the 
ash trees and into all the summerhouses — what charming 
places — they look so innocent — so country-like! — then we 
climbed one of the mounds, and, like — like stout Cortez upon 
that peak in Darien, stared at the pacific pond. Sir Ecroyd 
kindly got some cake for the ducks, and I have fed them.’’ 


ON THE HABITS OF AQUATIC FOWL. 265 

“That brings us well up to date,” said Lord Ashen- 
thorpe. “You are to be thanked for having civilized Sir 
Ecroyd, Mrs. Charlton To be civilized is to unbend occa- 
sionally. I never knew him unbend before to-day. Will 
you not complete your conversion of him by coming to dine 
with us en famille some night before next Thursday — the 
House, alas! resumes next Thursday?” 

Bertha looked at Julian, waiting for him to reply. 

He made no sign. 

‘T don’t think that we have any engagements,” said 
she at length. “Have you any plans 'for the week, Julian?” 

“I cannot say at a moment’s notice,” he replied. “I 
fear we may have to run up to town for some days.” 

“My wife will write to-morrow,” said Lord Ashenthorpe. 
“It would be a great pleasure to<us all if you could come: 
Fairleigh must be civilized.” 

“Yes,” said Sir Ecroyd. “I feel that it has become one 
of the necessities of life with me since I first tasted its sweet- 
ness half an hour ago. You will not be a party to my lapse, 
Mrs. Charlton. Do you know what it means to ‘go 
Fantee’ ?” 

“I never heard the expression,” said Bertha. 

“The natives on the west coast of Africa become Chris- 
tians occasionally, when they have no other means of subsist- 
ence. They wear clothes — sometimes even coats. But 
the time comes when the old Adam is too strong for them, 
and they throw off everything wearable, and become wilder 
barbarians than they were originally. Will you see me ‘go 
Fantee’ before your eyes?” 

“Certainly not,” said Bertha. “I should run away.” 

“Then you would live with the consciousness that some- 
where in the cold world a ‘gone Fantee’ man is wandering, 
whose fate you might have averted.” 

“All these speak like angels trumpet-tongued in favor of 
your dining with us,” said Lord Ashenthorpe. 


266 


FORBID THE BANNS! 


By this time Sir Ecroyd had brushed the sponge cake 
crumbs, together with an adhesive raisin or two and a streak 
of citron, from the front of his coat, and was strolling up 
the gravel path by the side of Bertha, Julian and their host 
following. 

The band was braying away under the trees, the groups 
on the lawns were beginning to have a disorderly appear- 
ance, though the tennis players were as brisk as they had 
been in the early part of the afternoon. Some of the vehicles 
had already driven away, leaving Lady Ashenthorpe speed- 
ing the parting guest with smiles of a type fundamentally dif- 
fering from those which had illumined her face in welcoming 
her friends — to be more exact, the persons who would be 
likely to add to the stability of her husband’s seat in Parlia- 
ment. 

When Lord Ashenthorpe, Sir Ecroyd, Mr. Charlton, and 
Bertha. formed a group on the borders of the lawn, the eyes 
of all the other groups were turned upon them, just as one 
may see in a picture of Mr. Sidney Cooper’s all the cattle 
in a field turning to gaze upon a new arrival — just as one 
may see all the children in a family whose parents have run 
to seed turning stony gazes upon a human visitant to the 
room where they are playing trains with upturned sofas. 

A member of the cabinet, even though he was not a mem- 
ber of one of the county families of Brackenshire, was still a 
Personage in the estimation of the guests at Ashmead, and 
for that Personage, accompanied by Lord Ashenthorpe, to 
be seen by the side of a person who was referred to as That 
Woman, was astounding. At this time the short-sighted 
ladies gazed without feeling the need for the lenses supplied 
by the optician. There is no necessity to employ spectacles 
with a handle in order to look at a cabinet minister. 

Lady Rushton’s group was the only one on the lawn that 
acted with courage and resolution. She huddled her plain 
daughters together, and drove them before her to where 


ON- THE HABITS OF AQUATIC FOWL. 267 

their hostess was waiting — anxiously waiting, it must be 
confessed — to say good-by to her friends. Lady Rushton 
held her head at such an elevation as enabled her to see more 
of the surrounding foliage of the trees than of the groups on 
the lawn. 

“I think,” said Charlton, ‘‘that is our machine coming 
up the drive. My dear, Lady Ashenthorpe is waiting on the 
terrace steps.” 

‘‘You have a drive of six miles to the Court, have you 
not, Charlton?” said Lord Ashenthorpe. 

‘‘Quite six miles. I am not so sure about the rain keep- 
ing off for another hour,” said Charlton. 

‘‘The only wonder is that it has not been raining all the 
afternoon,” said the host. ‘‘Well, we will not say good- 
by, only au revoir." 

’‘That would please me very much more,” said Bertha. 
‘‘I have not spent a pleasanter afternoon since I came to 
England.” 

‘‘Your missionary efforts bring their own reward, Mrs. 
Charlton,” said Sir Ecroyd. ‘‘But pray remember what I 
said about the perils of my lapsing into the Fantee once 
more. I have no confidence in myself.” 

‘‘I shall use every effort to avert such a disaster/’ cried 
Bertha. 

‘‘My wife will call upon you, if you do not carry out your 
threat of going to town,” said Lord Ashenthorpe. 

‘‘It will be very good of Lady Ashenthorpe,” said 
Charlton. 

To return en aviateur the professional smiles of their 
hostess occupied only a few minutes. Then Bertha and 
Julian were driving rapidly down the avenue. 

‘‘She is distinctly the most beautiful creature I have ever 
seen,” said Sir Ecroyd. “If I had met her twenty years 
ago, I would have asked her to be my wife.” 

Lord Ashenthorpe laughed sagely. 


268 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


“My dear Fairleigh, you would have done nothing of the 
sort,” said he. 

“I assure you I would. Great Heavens, man, don’t you 
fancy that I know my own mind?” 

“Yes, I fancy you do know your own mind. ‘Mind’ — 
yes, it has come to that. You say ‘mind’ now, but twenty 
years ago you would have said ‘heart. ’ Mark the difference. 
You say you know your own mind regarding that bright 
young thing. So you do. She appeals to your mind. But 
what appeals to the mind of a cabinet minister of forty- 
three is not what appeals to the heart of a stripling of twenty- 
three. So much is certain. Therefore I say that you would 
not have wanted to make her your wife twenty years ago. 
Twenty years ago your heart was incapable of appreciating 
what your mind appreciates now. You would not have 
appreciated that young woman when you were twenty- 
three years of age.” 

“When I said ‘mind’ just now,” remarked Sir Ecroyd, 
“I was merely paying a just tribute to modern scientific 
research. Love has been proved to be the result of cerebra- 
tion — perhaps unconscious cerebration — perhaps automatic 
cerebration. The affecting of the heart is the natural 
sequence of the phenomena of the brain in such cases — the 
heart is by no means the seat of the origin of that incident 
known as love. If anyone were to talk about the heart of a 
cabinet minister nowadays, those who heard the phrase 
would put their tongues in their cheeks. It would make a 
capital cry for the opposition. ‘What about that heart?’ 
we should hear on all sides when that minister rose to advo- 
cate a coercive measure. That is why I made use of the 
word ‘mind.’ ” 

“But I tell you the mind has nothing to do with the 
matter.” 

“That is because you are an under secretary, Ashen- 
thorpe. There is nothing absurd about the idea of an 


ON THE HABITS OF AQUATIC FOWL. 269 

under secretary with a heart. Lady Ashenthorpe is com- 
ing toward us.” 

“Here is Ecroyd Fairleigh, Grace,” said Lord Ashen- 
thorpe; “and he has been feeding the ducks and the drakes 
in the pond all the afternoon by the side of Mrs. Charlton.” 

“That was very pretty on the part of Sir Ecroyd,” said 
Lady Ashenthorpe. 

“And on the part of Mrs. Charlton,” said the minister. 

“No doubt; but you cannot guess what I have been hear- 
ing regarding that charming young person. She is not 
married to Mr. Charlton.” 

“What!” cried Lord Ashenthorpe. 

“She is no more married to him than I am. She holds 
certain terribly advanced theories regarding marriage, and 
all that sort of thing, and she and Mr. Charlton made it up 
between them on the steamer that brought them from the 
Cape that they would not go through any ceremony of mar- 
riage. How amusing, is it not?” 

“Amusing? Good God! Grace, I have just insisted on 
their coming to dine with us some night next week.” 

Lady Ashenthorpe’s smile vanished. 

Lord Ashenthorpe looked imploringly toward Sir Ecroyd. 

Sir Ecroyd’ s face was as impassive as it always was when 
the opposition were clamoring for a complete explanation 
regarding the treatment of the aborigines in some newly 
annexed territory. 

“By Heavens,” thought Lord Ashenthorpe, “that man is 
thinking that he has a chance of marrying that bright young 
thing yet.” 

And so he was. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


ON THE FIRST CLOUD. 

W HILE this little scene was taking place on the terrace 
steps at Ashmead, Julian was sitting in chilling silence 
by the side of Bertha in the mail phaeton, listening to her 
account of how amusing Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh had been. 
The idea of his being a cabinet minister was quite absurd, 
she declared. There was no guile in him. (She did not 
seem to perceive the defective logic of her deduction). He 
had much more of a boy’s nature in him than Charlie Bar- 
ham, the midshipman, seemed to have possessed, she 
declared ; and yet he appeared to know everything — even 
where General Boulanger got the money, and what the last 
speech of the leader of the opposition meant. He had 
invented a new game, she said — not the leader of the oppo- 
sition, who sticks to the old — but Sir Ecroyd. You get a 
hat, and, standing at a distance of four yards, you try to 
throw shillings into it. The coins that fail to effect a lodg- 
ment are left lying outside until they are gathered up by the 
player whose shilling gets into the hat. Sir Ecroyd said 
that he invented the game while waiting for the Prime 
Minister and the Home Secretary at a cabinet council at 
Downing Street. All the members played at it except the 
Secretary for Scotland, who was a Presbyterian ; and when 
the two absent ministers arrived and had the game explained 
to them, they became so interested in it, they took off their 
coats and joined in. They continued playing till six o’clock, 
when the council adjourned ; and the newspapers, who were 
supposed to know all about cabinet councils, wrote leading 
articles explaining that a more successful council had not 


270 


ON THE FIRST CLOUD. 


271 


taken place during the session, and assuring their readers 
that it was mainly devoted to a financial question, not wholly 
unconnected with the buying out of the Irish landlords. Sir 
Ecroyd had declared to her, Bertha said, that it was cer- 
tainly the most successful council he had ever attended, for 
he had made eleven shillings in the course of the afternoon. 
He should have made very much more, only that the Scotch 
secretary, who had eventually become interested in the 
game, joined in at a time when nine shillings remained out- 
side the hat — in the pool, so to speak. He said he had not 
a shilling about him, but if they would let him throw a six- 
pence instead he would join in. The Chancellor of the 
Exchequer naturally held out for the shilling, but all the 
others agreed to let the sixpence be thrown. The first throw 
was lucky, and the Scotch minister picked up the nine 
shillings and his own sixpence, and said it was time to go 
home, otherwise the people might think that there were seri- 
ous dissensions in the cabinet. 

“ I asked him if cabinet councils were always like that," 
continued Bertha ; “and he said that that one was quite an 
exception. The fact was that some of the ministers were 
old and not particularly brisk on their legs. The younger 
think it their duty to give way in all matters to them, and 
only introduce something in which they can all join on a 
common footing. On the whole. Sir Ecroyd said he thought 
that the safest thing for a cabinet council was a pen dart 
game. They get a sheet of thick paper and draw on it an 
outline of the leader of the opposition. They put it on a 
blotting pad, and lean it up against a dispatch box, and then 
throw quill pens at it, which always fly point foremost 
They lay down a shilling for every shot, and whoever suc- 
ceeds in hitting him on the mouth gets the pool. They call 
the game Shutting up the Opposition. It is extremely 
popular. I never was so much amused in all my life," con- 
tinued Bertha. “ Sir Ecroyd told it all with such solemnity, 


272 “/ FORBID THE BANNS!'* 

and entreating me every now and again not to let anyone 
know that he had told me.” 

She laughed, but Julian did not laugh. He drove steadily 
on, his face remaining as solemn as Sir Ecroyd’s could pos- 
sibly have been while communicating the secrets of the 
cabinet councils to Bertha. 

She felt repressed and chilled by his solemnity. It was 
out of place, she thought. It appeared to her that some- 
thing had occurred to put him out during the day. She 
wondered what it could be. Surely he was not foolish 
enough to think that she was annoyed at the insolent way 
in which the county ladies with the handled spectacles had 
stared at her ! 

He scarcely exchanged a word with her while they were 
driving to the Court, and at dinner also he was silent. 

Well, if he meant to be serious, she would be sympathetic 
with his mood, she thought ; so she began to talk to him on 
a subject to which she had been giving serious considera- 
tion during some days. 

“ I want to have your opinion regarding Eric Vicars,” she 
said, when they were in the drawing room after dinner. 
The topic being a serious one was, she believed, very hap- 
pily chosen by her. 

He lifted his head up suddenly, and looked at hersteadily. 
She had never seen such an expression on his face before. 
It was a searching look — a look of suspicion — of distrust, it 
seemed to her. 

“Why should you look at me in that way ?” she asked, 
laying her hand on the back of one of his. 

“ What is my opinion worth to you, when you are 
thinking of that man?” said he. “You know it is worth 
nothing.” 

“ That is distinctly unkind on your part, Julian,” said she. 
“ It is almost cruel of you to talk to me like that. I know 
you have shown yourself once before to be sensitive on the 


ON THE FIRST CLOUD. 


273 


question of my money ; and I know that you are so from a 
feeling of honor. You do not wish anyone to do you the 
injustice of thinking of you as a fortune hunter. But ” 

“ Do not let us talk any more on the subject,” said he. 
“ We are fast approaching that stage of bickering which is 
usually supposed to be the chronic state of those who com- 
mence with great connubial bliss, as it is called.” 

“ There is no reason to change the topic,” she replied 
gently. “ Do not fancy, for a moment, my dearest, that I 
fall short in appreciating the delicacy — the sense of honor 
which causes you to wish to avoid the implication of a 
partnership in my money. But I do not think that you 
should allow your sense of honor to prevent your giving me 
some advice. I believe that my father meant to do some- 
thing more for Eric than he did, and I have been rather 
uneasy in consequence. My aunt takes the same view of 
the matter as I do — she told me so when she was here, and 
you were in the smoking room. Now, do you not think 
that, as there are so many large farms vacant in England, I 
might buy one and set Eric up in it, giving him a chance of 
being the pioneer of my plan for recruiting agricultural 
England from the colonies ?” 

‘‘ For God’s sake,” said he, rising and making a depre- 
catory motion with his hands — “for God’s sake, let us 
hear nothing more about systems and plans and principles. 
I think we have had enough of them. Do what you please 
with your money — it is all yours. I never want to see a 
penny of it. Throw it away upon your old friend Eric, or 
upon your new friend Sir Ecroyd, if you wish ; all I beg of 
you is not to try to make me a party to any more 
schemes.” 

He was standing with his back to the fireplace, and she 
was seated on a gilt couch at his left — the very sofa where, 
only a few weeks before, he had fancied her sitting. He 
had spoken without any expression of anger in his voice, 


274 “/ FORBID THE BANNS!'' 

only in a measured way, and with more than a trace of 
bitterness. 

There was a long pause in the room. 

Then she got up from her seat, and, without a word, left 
the drawing room. To reach the door she had to pass 
through the portiere drawn between tall pillars. Only at 
the moment of moving the curtain to one side did she look 
toward him. He remained with his hands behind his back 
at the fireplace, making no sign. He heard the door open 
and close. 

Then he felt alone. 

It was the first cloud. 

It was a curious satisfaction that he felt — very curious 
and extremely evanescent. 

Had he treated her badly ? or had she treated him 
badly ? 

Surely he was the ill-treated one. Why had she gone 
away with Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh ? Why had she thought it 
well to leave the protecting shade of the weeping ash ? 
Why had she allowed Sir Ecroyd to make up a portion of 
that extremely effective picture which had come before his 
eyes and the eyes of Lord Ashenthorpe at the ornamental 
water ? It was quite monstrous that she should get on 
such friendly terms with him as allowed her to employ him 
in a way that involved the becrumbing of his waistcoat. 
If he had been her most intimate friend, she could not have 
treated him in a more confidential way. The exact con- 
nection between crumbs and confidences Julian might have 
had some difficulty, in defining, but he perceived that 
such a subtle connection existed the moment he saw the 
crumbs on the waistcoat of the Minister of the Annexation 
Department. 

Why had she then kept talking about him all the time 
they were driving home, if she was not fascinated by him, 
as the minister clearly was by her ? 


ON THE FIRST CLOUD. 


275 


That was a question which could only be answered in 
one way ; and it was because he felt that he could answer 
it without hesitation, he came to the conclusion that he did 
well to be angry. 

But then he reflected — as he had done more than once 
lately — that if she had been fascinated by the Minister of 
Annexation, there was no reason in the world why she 
should not go to him, and, if she wished, and the minister 
wished, marry him. If she were once married to Sir 
Ecroyd she would never be able to return to the Court. 

Where was she at the very moment he was thinking 
about her? Perhaps she was putting on her hat in order 
to set out for Ashmead to throw herself into the arms of 
the minister. 

If that was her intention there was no power that he 
could bring to his aid to prevent her from realizing it. 
She was bound to him by no tie — that was what he now 
felt, as he had often done before. 

Why bad he not remembered this before speaking to her 
such words as had so deeply offended her ? 

Then the thought occurred to him that it was only when 
she had talked about Eric Vicars that he had become exas- 
perated. He hated Vicars as he had never before hated 
any man. He had hated him from the moment he had 
appeared on the dock side. 

Was it possible that he was jealous both of the cabinet 
minister and the ex-overseer? 

The notion was ridiculous. 

Of this fact he was well aware, but, unfortunately, the 
consciousness that a certain notion is ridiculous is by no 
means incompatible with the possession of this notion by a 
man. 

Jealousy is madness — this he knew. But there is another 
passion that “ doth work like madness in the brain.” 
This is “ to be wroth with one we love.” Then indeed he 


276 


‘/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


was doubly mad. He was insanely jealous of two men, and 
he was wroth with the woman whom he loved as he had 
never loved any human being. He had been wroth with 
her, and now she had left him. He was standing alone in 
the great room, staring at the space in the heavy portitre 
through which she had passed. The broken line of the 
drapery seemed to him to retain something of the figure 
that had passed through the space into the dimness 
beyond. Would he ever see that figure again? It was 
exquisite, but it had passed from him forever. 

He turned away from the fireplace and threw himself 
down on the sofa where she had rested. 

He began to wonder how it was that he had never had a 
suspicion of jealousy of her so long as they had been to- 
gether aboard the steamer ! He had daily seen her sitting 
beside, and talking with, men who were certainly as fascinat- 
ing as the cattle driver, and much more fascinating than the 
cabinet minister. (To that distorted vision of the jealous 
man the figure of Eric Vicars was actually more imposing 
than the figure of Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh.) How was it that 
he had then felt absolutely secure of her love, whereas now 
he could not see her beside a man without being in agony ? 

The problem was too much for him. 

He buried his face in his hands, overcome with that 
dread feeling of loneliness which was the result of all his 
thoughts. He was alone. All his thoughts led him into 
the overwhelming darkness of that sensation. 

Was it a fancy due to his mood, that a hand was resting 
on his shoulder ? With his face still bent down to one 
hand, he put the other up to his shoulder. It touched a 
soft hand wearing a ring. 

“Julian, dear Julian, I am so .sorry. I should have 
remembered that you do not wish that man’s name men- 
tioned. I will not do so again. Forgive me, dearest, and 
let this little cloud float away forever.” 


ON THE FIRST CLOUD, 


277 


“Forgive you, Bertha? Oh, my love, my love, it is I 
who need your forgiveness. How could I ever say such 
cruel words to you ? How could I ever lead you to believe 
that I doubted you ? Do not think it, dearest. Do not 
believe that I could ever doubt you.” 

She moved away at the words with a little shudder, and 
repeated them as if she had not caught their import. 

“ You to doubt me — -you to doubt me ? ” 

“ Never, Bertha — never ! ” he cried. “ I do not doubt 
your truth now, my beloved ! ” 

“ Not now — now? ” she repeated. 

“ Never — never until the end of time ! ” he said, catch- 
ing her hand. “ Say that the cloud is past, Bertha — say 
that it is past ! ” 

“ Yes, it is past,” she said gently, almost sadly. 

He clasped her hand and kissed her. 

She responded neither to the clasp nor the kiss. 

Was it possible that her words “ it is past ” did not refer 
to the cloud ? 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


ON THE LOCUST AS A COMESTIBLE. 

T here is scarcely anything more humiliating to persons 
of intelligence — that is, to ourselves — than to be made 
the subject of hostile prophecy by men whom we believe to 
be old fools. It was, possibly, this fact that caused the 
death rate among the Hebrew prophets to reach such 
a high percentage. One could hardly imagine a greater 
source of irritation than a prophet turning up every now 
and again, just when things were becoming pleasant — when 
the nightingales were singing around the summer palaces 
and the eleven hundredth wife was turning out a success — 
and prophesying unpleasant things in the presence of a 
monarch who preferred the scents of the harem to those of 
the wilderness. The music of the sackbut, the psaltery, 
and the dulcimer, accompanying the songs of the singing 
girls, arranged for a chorus of female voices by that distin- 
guished composer the chief musician upon Jonath-Elem- 
Rechokim, was certainly preferable to the fervid and 
disturbing recitatives of those fierce, unkempt men detest- 
ably zealous, who came straight from their meals of locusts, 
or some other abomination of the desert, and droned out 
the effects of their dyspepsia in the presence of the king. 
The rigid adherence to the locust as an article of diet 
produced several prophets of the highest order of dys- 
peptics. 

The worst of the matter was that they were so frequently 
right, though few of them were sufficiently nimble in avoid- 
ing javelins to be in a position to live to see their predictions 
realized It speaks volumes in favor of the assumption that 

278 


ON THE LOCUST AS A CYMESTIBLE. 279 

Nebuchadnezzar was a good-natured man, that he did not 
order the immediate slaughter of the person who prophesied 
that he should become the most distinguished vegetarian 
that the world has ever known. 

Julian Charlton felt greatly irritated when he reflected 
that the prediction of Mr. Matthew Hardy had been in 
some measure realized, so far as he was concerned. 

The founder of the carnisolists had predicted that Charl- 
ton would be a man to be pitied when he should see Bertha 
by the side of a fascinating man, and feel that she was bound 
to him, Julian Charlton, by no tie. 

Charlton felt himself to be a man of intelligence, and he 
believed Mr. Hardy to be an old fool ; consequently he was 
greatly irritated to be obliged to confess that the prophet 
Hardy had predicted truly. 

It should be his own task, Charlton resolved, to prevent 
the possibility of Mr. Hardy’s implied prophecy becoming 
a rule of his life. What a frightful thing it would be if it 
were to be realized every time he might see Bertha by the 
side of a fascinating man, he thought. To be sure, fasci- 
nating men had not been very numerous, so far as Bertha 
was concerned, otherwise she would have yielded to one of 
them years before he, Julian, had met her. 

Here a thought laid a cold finger upon him, so to speak. 
Bertha had known Eric Vicars years before she had 
mounted that stairway made up the rocks of St. Helena. 
Julian knew that there is nothing more fatal than an early 
attachment, especially when one of the attached persons 
remains faithful to the early contract. Such monuments of 
fidelity are very irritating. The man who remains faithful 
to the woman he has loved in childhood is neither pictur- 
esque nor useful. 

Charlton had an idea that the majority of women rather 
like to have near them the men who remain faithful to 
them from childhood. A soldier likes to wear his medals 


28 o “/ FORBID THE BANNS'^* 

— they represent certain victories of the past ; and the 
faithful men will bear to be regarded as evidences of early 
triumphs. 

He wondered if Bertha was inclined to regard Eric 
Vicars in this light. 

Whether or not she was so inclined, it was certain that 
this man Vicars meant that it should be generally under- 
stood that he was a monument of fidelity, and that Bertha 
had behaved badly to him. 

The question that then remained was, did Bertha feel 
that she had behaved badly to him ? 

If she did not, why should she betray so great an anxiety 
to do something for him ? Why should she — a refined, 
intellectual woman — desire to do anything for a common 
loafer, such as Vicars undoubtedly was ? Why should she 
desire to see him established in a farm in the neighborhood 
of the Court ? 

These inquiries which he put to himself were very dis- 
quieting. He felt that if he were married to Bertha they 
would not cause him a moment’s uneasiness ; but however 
she might regard the bond existing between herself and 
her husband — as she called him — he felt that it was a very 
different tie from the marriage bond. 

It was appalling to reflect that, only a few weeks before, 
he had been talking about the beauty of a spiritual 
marriage — a union that was dependent upon no earthly 
bond, but upon that mystic blending of two souls in one. 
Bertha had convinced him of the reality of the spiritual 
marriage, though he remembered how he had held out 
bravely for the legal ceremony. Why had he not remained 
steadfast in this matter ? He recollected how he had seen 
Eric Vicars holding Bertha’s two hands in his own. That 
had caused his resolution to assume another shape. It had 
caused him to feel that he would be worse than a fool if he 
were to leave her in the power of such a man as was hold- 


ON THE LOCUST AS A COMESTIBLE. 


281 


ing her hands in his own, with a detestable air of propri- 
etorship. Yes, it was Eric Vicars who had caused him to 
yield to Bertha. He could not forget that, and he hated 
the man the more on this account. 

The first cloud had passed away, but it had left some 
effects behind it. The seeds of suspicion and distrust had 
obtained some moisture from it, and there was every prom- 
ise of a plentiful crop in the course of time. Bertha was 
not exactly the same, he could perceive. She was making 
noble efforts to be exactly the same, but she was not quite 
succeeding. The fact that she found it necessary to make 
such efforts proved to him that she was conscious that a 
change had taken place in her feelings, so far as he was 
concerned. 

Could it be possible that she, too, was feeling that the 
union of souls did not contain the elements of stability? 
He did not venture to ask her. 

During the next few days, several visitors appeared at 
the Court. Curiously enough, they were all men. Several 
of them Charlton had known before he had set out on his 
travels. Some of them had been presented to Bertha on 
the lawn at Ashmead, previous to the arrival of Sir Ecroyd 
to eclipse all lesser lights. They were for the most part 
pleasant fellows, with a nice appreciation of “ form.” They 
did not look at it from a standpoint of art, but from the 
standpoint of a public school. They hoped Mrs. Charlton 
would enjoy the hunting when October came. They 
thought that they could show her some fun. Few districts 
were so conscientiously hunted as the Brackenthorpe neigh- 
borhood. Things were not done by halves here, they 
assured her. Eight years ago a farmer had been almost 
proved to have shot a fox, simply because it carried off 
some seventeen prize fowl of his, they told her. As the 
deed had almost been proved against him, he fiad been 
given to understand that the sooner he cleared off the 


282 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


better it would be for himself. You see it had almost been 
proved against him, they assured Bertha, when she had 
suggested a possible injustice. 

“ And what became of him ? ” she inquired. 

“ He died in the workhouse three years afterward,” was 
the answer. “ Oh, yes ! make no mistake ; the fellows of 
the hunt are really conscientious men. They stand no 
damn nonsense.” 

Bertha looked at the speaker who had given her the 
assurance. There was a light in her eyes that an ordinary 
man would have been able to interpret without much diffi- 
culty. The conscientious fox-hunter did not show him- 
self equal to the task of interpretation. He shook his 
head in a knowing way, and repeated, his last assertion : 

“Yes, we stand no damn nonsense ; do we, Charlto’n ?” 

Without waiting to hear whether Julian confirmed the 
statement, or suggested the possibility of its being founded 
upon a misapprehension, Bertha turned her back directly 
upon the man, and began to talk to another. 

The other was a humorist as well as a member of a 
county family ; the two are not invariably found in intimate 
association. He was also something of a sad young dog, 
he believed, and he hoped yet to convince some people that 
he really was one. 

Oh, no, he assured Bertha, he was not often so long away 
from town as he had been. It was a beastly shame, he 
admitted, to have to remain for another fortnight in a place 
where so little fun was to be had in the summer. For a 
fellow who had accustomed himself to town life, and who 
had also accustomed the people of the town to his presence 
every season, it was no joke to have to remain in the 
country for a whole month. In a low voice he expressed 
his curiosky to know if Bertha had ever heard of the 
Jollity Theater. 

“ I have never heard of it. What is its specialty ? ” 


ON THE LOCUST AS A COMESTIBLE. 283 

The youth screwed up his eyes and his mouth into the 
knowing smile of the young dog ; he glanced cautiously 
around and then bent his head as close to Bertha’s as was 
possible, before whispering with every suggestion of being 
a very naughty man : 

“ Legs! ” and then he lay back in fits at his own light 
humor. It was very airy, he felt ; and of course it was a 
bit naughty — what humor is worth anything that is not 
a bit naughty ? “ They all like it, these young married 

ones,” he was accustomed to explain to those dull people 
who suggested that, now and again, he went a little too far 
in his humor. 

Bertha looked at the humorist for a few moments, and 
then quietly rose and left the room. 

“1 think I had better leave your friends with you,” she 
said to Julian as she rose. 

There was a considerable silence in the room after her 
departure. The visitors glanced at one another, and then 
at Charlton. 

“It is wonderful,” said Charlton, “ how quickly things 
change even in so slow a county as Brackenshire. Since I 
have returned I have found myself actually old-fashioned.” 

“ Well, maybe you are a bit off, old man,” said one of his 
visitors ; “ but, never mind ; we make all allowances for 
you. A couple of years’ travel is bound to make the best 
of fellows a trifle cramped in his notions, you know.” 

“ I dare say,” said Charlton. “ But if it has become the 
right thing to swear in the presence of the lady whom you 
are visiting, and with whom you are talking, I am rather 
glad I took to traveling, and I am inclined to think that I 
shall take to it again.” 

“ A man may now and again make a slip like that, with- 
out any harm coming of it,” said the fox-hunter. . 

“ That is quite true,” said Charlton. “ But it was always 
the custom that a man making such a slip apologized for it 


284 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


to the lady. Of course I know that you would not do any- 
thing that was not strictly the right thing ; so I take it for 
granted that it has become quite usual to swear in the course 
of conversation with a lady. That is why I say that I think 
it highly probable that I shall go abroad again.” 

After another silence, someone suggested that it would be 
a pity not to shoot the well-known Court coverts in the 
autumn. A few remarks regarding poachers were made, and 
gradually the visitors dispersed, leaving Julian to his own 
reflections. 


CHAPTER XI. 

ON FRENCH PORCELAIN. 


H IS reflections were not of a very pleasing type. 

He knew that the men who had just left him had 
heard discussed in their own households the important ques- 
tion as to whether Bertha should be visited or left alone 
with the man whom she called her husband. He knew that, 
while the womenkind in each family had declared that 
nothing in the world would induce them to visit That 
Woman, the menkind had considered that it would be some- 
thing of the nature of a good lark to take a run across to the 
Court, and have achat with the young thing who was living 
there. It would be nearly as good as taking a trip to France, 
they thought. Charlton knew perfectly well that these 
Brackenshire young men had regarded the trip to the Court 
as being on a level of fastness with an excursion to Paris. 
He knew that some of them at least, would boast of having 
had “ no end of a lark with that pretty young thing that 
Charlton had got hold of.” To talk to such men about the 
mystic beauty of spiritual marriage would be as ridiculous 
as to talk of the advantages of decency and repose to 
General Booth, or of the fascinations of the Westminster 
Confession to Colonel Ingersoll. 

He did not hear what it was that the humorist had said to 
drive Bertha from the room ; but he had not failed to notice 
the jaunty air of fastness that each of the visitors affected. 
He was well aware that none of them would have ventured 
to talk about any particular line of conduct being “ damn 
nonsense ” in the presence of the wife of any of their own 
relations, unless the lady had been the first to swear — by no 

285 


286 “/ FORBID THE BANNS!" 

• 

means an unlikely contingency, for Brackenshire contained 
many hunting ladies who could bring the blush of shame to 
the faces of their own grooms — a feat in itself — with their 
strong language. 

Well, the fast young men had gone to their homes some- 
what tardily ; and no doubt they would entertain their 
mothers and sisters with an account of how the woman who 
was living at the Court had presumed to give herself the 
airs of a prude. How the mothers and sisters would hold 
up their hands and raise their eyebrows at the notion of 
That Woman pretending to have something of the prude 
about her ! The mothers and the sisters, who will not visit 
a young woman whom they believe to belong to a naughty 
world, are always delighted to learn all that can be told 
them — sometimes even more — regarding the naughty people 
and their naughty ways. 

Naughtiness may be read about, may be seen on the 
stage, may be imitated in dress, may be stared at through 
spectacles with handles, but it must on no account be 
visited. 

Charlton made up his mind that he would take Bertha to 
London as soon as possible. He was tired of the county 
and the county people. In London they could have as 
much society as they wished — the society of men and 
women whose names were known in the world — who had 
other aims in life beside killing foxes. He knew that in 
London Bortha would be visited, and that cards in heaps 
would arrive for her by every post, inviting her to dinners, 
to dances, to private concerts, to street Arab missions, to 
woman’s suffrage meetings, to hypnotizing stances, to 
scientific conversazioni, to boating parties, to first nights 
at the plays, to Exeter Hall meetings, and to all those 
delightful functions of a London season. 

He knew that people in London are glad to receive 
strangers on their own merits ; and in Bertha’s case the 


ON FRENCH PORCELAIN 287 

merits were beauty, brightness, intelligence, freshness, and 
nearly twelve thousand pounds a year. 

While these reflections were coming to him, Bertha 
entered the room, and glanced around. 

He could see that her eyes had a delicate border of pink 
about them. She had been weeping. 

“ My beloved ! ” said he, putting his arm about her. 
“ Why should you be cut up because a country jackanapes 
endeavors to impress you with the idea that he is a man 
about town ? They are gone — those young asses — and I can 
promise you that you will not be troubled with them 
again.” 

“Why should they talk in that way to me — just as if I 
were a man, and as if I had known them all my life ? ” said 
Bertha. 

He knew quite well what was the only answer he could 
make to her. But how could he tell her that it was because 
it was taken for granted that she was occupying the same 
house with a man who was not her husband? Women who 
do this are the women in whose presence men do not mod- 
ulate their voices or their expressions. 

“ My dearest, they are country fools,” said he. “ They 
are no more offensive than their mothers or their sisters.” 

“ If these are examples of your Brackenshire people, 
I shall go back to one of my sheep-runs. Among the 
shepherds and the shearers and stock keepers I am cer- 
tain to be among gentlemen — men with good hearts and 
good sense — very different from those silly, bragging 
boys.” 

“ No, my love, we shall not go to the wilds of Australia — 
we shall go to the wilds of London instead. There I 
promise you that you shall have all the intellect of the town 
at your feet.” 

He knew that if her beauty failed to bring the intellect 
of the town to her feet, the fact of her possessing about 


288 


FORBID THE BANNS! 


twelve thousand pounds a year would do it, especially if 
she continued buying the products of intellect at the prices 
suggested by the producers. 

“I do not want the intellect at my feet,” she said. “I 
only want to live without being subjected to the insults of 
such men as were here just now. Why, in driving in the 
cattle to the stockyards, the men never swore when I was 
at hand.” 

And yet I believe that that is a work that is mainly 
accomplished by judicious vituperation,” said Julian. 

“ Do not laugh,” said she, with a pained look. “ I feel 
just now as if nothing is left for me but to return to 
Australia — to go home.” 

Bertha, my wife, this is your home,” said he. “You 
must never think of any place but this as your home now. 
We shall stand side by side to the end.” 

They had not yet been a month together, and he was 
talking about the end coming. This was the language of 
the garrison of a fortress that is being besieged. The men 
talk bravely about standing side by side until the end comes, 
knowing that the end is not far off. 

Some moments passed before she spoke. 

“Yes,” she cried bravely; “ we stand together, you and 
I — to the end — to the end ! ” 

“ To the end .! ” he repeated, with her hand in his. 

She had spoken bravely — but he felt that he would rather 
she had spoken lovingly. Was she beginning to find out 
that the condition of marriage — leaving aside altogether 
the question of the marriage ceremony — was more or less 
of a compromise ? 

Before he had dropped her hand, the sound of wheels 
and hoofs was heard on the drive. 

“ More visitors ! ” said Bertha with a wearied look. 

He glanced out of the window. The vehicle had been 
pulled up at the porch. It was hidden by the projecting 


ON FRENCH PORCELAIN. 289 

wall ; but he could see the horses’ heads, and the crest on 
the harness. 

“ It is the Ashenthorpes’ phaeton,” said he. “ Lady 
Ashenthorpe has kept the promise which her husband 
made ; she has come to pay you a visit.” 

In a few seconds the footman announced Lord Ashen- 
thorpe and Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh. 

The two men entered, and the door was closed. 

Lady Ashenthorpe had not come. 

It only took Lord Ashenthorpe a few minutes to explain, 
in precisely the same tone he adopted when replying on 
behalf of the Treasury to a question put by a querulous 
opposition — a question demanding in a reply the exercise 
of tact, courage, and a conscientious abandonment of con- 
scientiousness — why Lady Ashenthorpe had not come. 

“ My poor wife — a victim to hay fever,” said Lord 
Ashenthorpe. “ It is really very melancholy, Charlton. 
We came down here for a few days’ complete rest — for a 
whiff of the meadow across the footlights, so to speak — for, 
my dear Charlton, we are more or less play-actors.” 

“ We are indeed,” acquiesced Charlton. 

“ Politicians are not exempted,” said Lord Ashenthorpe. 

“Oh, no, no, that is impossible,” said Julian. “ Pardon 
my interruption : you were at ‘whiff of the meadow.’” 

“Ah, of course. Yes, I say it is very hard. The whiff 
of the meadow that should do us all the good in the world 
knocks my wife up for days. She is very sorry that she 
found it impossible to accompany me to-day, but we agreed 
that it would be madness for her to make the attempt. 
And the dinner party — I was hoping that she might nerve 
herself for the little party that I had been promising my- 
self ; but it would be too melancholy — a dinner party 
without a hostess.” 

“ It would indeed,” acquiesced Charlton. 

“ But you said you would be in town for the remainder 


290 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/'' 


of the season, did you not ? Then the dinner is not aban- 
doned, only postponed. You will let me have your address — 
we have dinners almost every Wednesday — that is my free 
night. Thank Heaven, we have still our Wednesdays and 
Saturdays. You will only meet congenial souls — not a 
politician among them — only Fairleigh.” 

“ He is a member of the cabinet, consequently exempted 
from the list of politicians.” 

“Of course — in that sense. You will find him congenial, 
so will your — ah — Mrs. Charlton. You see they have re- 
sumed their conversation which we interrupted at the pond. 
Did you see the paragraph that appeared in that iniquitous 
print Thistledown regarding the pond business ? It is really 
monstrous that a man cannot ask a few friends to his place 
for an hour or two without finding afterward that some of 
them are making ‘ copy ’ for these wretched prints that 
spring up around us and die away after a month or two.” 

“ I never heard of Thistledown," said Julian. “ What did 
it say ? ” 

“ Some trash about the fondness of some members of the 
government for wild fowl,’’ replied Lord Ashenthorpe. 
“ After alluding to the fact that Fairleigh was feeding the 
ducks all the afternoon, it twisted the thing round so as to 
suggest that the fondness for wildfowl may be carried too 
far by any government. Then it alluded to our East Afri- 
can business as a wild-goose chase, and declared that our 
love for ornithology was so marked that we made ducks 
and drakes of everything we attempted to do. It went on 
in that sickening style for half a page,” added the under 
secretary. 

While Julian Charlton was listening to the indignant 
remarks of Lord Ashenthorpe, he was casually watching Sir 
Ecroyd examining, by the side of Bertha, one of the famous 
Sevres vases for which, in the eyes of collectors, the Court 
was the shrine. 


ON FRENCH PORCELAIN, 


291 


He saw how interested Bertha was as Sir Ecroyd made 
some critical remarks regarding Watteau and the limitations 
of his art — in what degree he was influenced by the artifi- 
cial taste around him, and in what measure he influenced 
the taste of the period of such art. Sir Ecroyd was well 
known to be an authority on Sevres porcelain. He was an 
authority on a considerable number of matters. Indeed, a 
certain scurrilous print — it was subsidized by the opposi- 
tion — had declared that, so varied was his information, if 
he knew a little about statesmanship, there would be no 
topic upon which he would remain completely uninformed. 

Bertha was greatly interested, Julian could see ; and he 
felt himself once more at the mercy of that demon which 
had exercised its power over him upon previous occasions 
— the demon that was accustomed to whisper into his ear 
those words : 

“ She is not yours — she is bound to you by no tie — she 
may walk out of this house with that man, and you have no 
authority to prevent her.” 

He contrived to lead Lord Ashenthorpe up the room, 
still exclaiming against the prying habits of such papers as 
Thistledown. Sir Ecroyd was standing with his back turned 
to the lower part of the room and his face turned to Bertha, 
and the words that Julian heard him say were these : 

“You will come, I am sure. It will be such a pleasure 
to me. Everyone knows my house in Piccadilly.” 

“ I shall be delighted, indeed,” was Bertha’s reply, and 
it seemed to Julian that it was spoken in a low tone. 

“ Ah, you have been examining the Sevres,” said Lord 
Ashenthorpe. “ I told Fairleigh about the jars, Charlton. 
He was most anxious to see your Sevres. I told him that 
you had jars.” 

“ What family has not occasionally ? ” said Charlton, with 
a smile. He flattered himself that no one could detect that 
he was under the influence of that sneering demon. 


292 “/ FORBID THE BANNS 

“ Sir Ecroyd has been good enough to offer to show me 
his house of precious things, Julian,” cried Bertha. 

That is very good of Sir Ecroyd,” replied Julian pleas- 
antly — so pleasantly that Sir Ecroyd knew in an instant 
what was in his heart. “ And you have promised to make 
the pilgrimage to Piccadilly, I hope,” added Julian. 

“ I have said that we shall be delighted,” said Bertha. 

And so we shall, I am certain,” said Julian. 

“ I trust so,” said Sir Ecroyd. ‘‘ I have made some mis- 
takes, I dare say ” 

Oh, no, no,” said Julian, still with transparent pleasant- 
ness. 

“ But I do not think I ever bought a poor bit of Sevres,” 
continued the minister, ignoring the interruption and the 
interrupter. *‘And yet I can assure you that those vases 
are worth the half of my collection. I envy you the posses- 
sion of a treasure, Mr. Charlton. I trust you are fully 
acquainted with its variety and value.” 

Charlton looked at the speaker quickly, to try and dis- 
cover if he meant his words to have a double meaning. But 
the face of the cabinet minister was as impenetrable as the 
face of the Sphinx. He had been looked at too often in 
exactly the same spirit of earnest inquiry by the occupants 
of the opposition benches not to be schooled how to meet 
such a look. 

“I think,” said Charlton, ‘‘that I know the real from the 
sham, even with the masks — how fond they were of their 
masks, those designers” — and he pointed to the fantastic 
heads with sprouting horns that wreathed themselves into 
handles for the vases. “ Yes, I fancy I know when I have 
secured a treasure. Sir Ecroyd.” 

“ You know my house, of course, Mr. Charlton,” re- 
marked Sir Ecroyd casually, without giving the least sign 
that he fancied a little fencing bout had been going on, in 
which he had wielded one of the rapiers. 


ON FRENCH PORCELAIN. 


293 


“ Who does not ? ” said Charlton. “ People come from 
Boston to see it.” 

“ Why Boston ? ” said Bertha. 

“ Because nothing else in the world worth seeing exists 
outside Boston,” he replied. 

Shortly afterward Lord Ashenthorpe and Sir Ecroyd left 
the Court ; and the latter gave expression to his belief that 
Mr. Charlton was a good deal cleverer than anyone meet- 
ing him casually might be led to suppose. 

“And his — the — lady?” inquired his host. 

“ Better than clever,” said Sir Ecroyd; “sympathetic.” 

“ Any woman who succeeds in making a man believe that 
she is good rather than clever,” said Lord Ashenthorpe, 
lasping into the French tongue, for a man was sitting with 
folded arms, but open ears, on the back seat, “ is clever 
rather than good.” 

“ And any man who thinks that he can epigram a woman’s 
character away to the one who loves her is simple rather 
than clever,” said Sir Ecroyd. 

In the drawing room at the Court there was also a 
duologue. 

“ The clouds are passed,” cried Bertha. “ That sunshiny 
visit has sent all the clouds flying. What a difference there 
is between a man like Sir Ecroyd — or even like Lord 
Ashenthorpe — and those silly young fools who annoyed me 
just now ! How silly I was to be annoyed ! ” 

‘‘ If some people were not silly there would be no need 
for cabinet ministers,” said Julian. 

“ That is the best excuse I have ever yet heard for silli- 
ness,” laughed Bertha. 

“ I thought it rather an excuse for your cabinet minis- 
ter,” said Julian. 

He felt that if the choice had been offered to him he 
would prefer to have seen her pleased at the visit of the 
silly youths, and annoyed at the visit of the cabinet minis- 


294 


I FORBID THE BANNS I 


ter. Silly youths are not a source of danger ; but cabinet 
ministers certainly are. 

This he felt, not considering cabinet ministers in their 
official capacity, but from the standpoint of a man who 
fears that the woman whom he loves resembles the butter- 
fly in disposition as well as in beauty. 

And this was why Julian Charlton locked himself up in 
his library, eating his heart out, until the gong sounded for 
a more palatable repast at eight o’clock. 


CHAPTER XLI. 


ON BEING A PERSONAGE. 

I N another week they were in London, and in another 
fortnight Julian’s prediction had been realized : Bertha 
had become a Personage in society. Julian had managed 
to obtain a furnished house within a reasonable distance 
from the Marble Arch for two months, the owner receiving 
an honorarium at the rate of one hundred guineas a month, 
stables extra. 

The first gallop they had together in the park made to 
Julian the gratifying revelation that even two years’ absence 
is not sufficient to obliterate one from the recollection of 
all one’s friends. He found himself presenting men and 
women to Bertha in batches the first time they pulled up 
under the trees. He had had a wide acquaintance in 
London before traveling, and he had only to reappear in a 
recognized haunt to be recognized by many. It is not 
until a man has been a third season away from London 
that he is utterly forgotten. 

These statistics prove that London is not that heartless 
place which some philosophers assure us it is. 

The young women to whom his name had been mentioned 
by their mothers in previous years as a young man of great 
possibilities, but to whom he had not . proposed marriage, 
were now young wives — some of them — and having done 
very much better for themselves — some of them — were 
delighted to meet him, and to smile upon his wife, who 
they believed — some of them — had done so m*uch worse in 
marrying him than they had done in marrying their hus- 

395 


296 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!" 


bands. What was Mrs. Charlton’s day, they were anxious 
to know — where was she living ? 

When the young women — some of them — were so 
gracious, it did not seem absurd that the young men — and 
the old ones — should be doubly so. They were ; and 
Bertha told them what her day was and where she lived, 
and they expressed themselves delighted at the prospect of 
visiting Mrs. Charlton. 

Thus it came about that, on Mrs. Charlton’s “ day,” she 
received as many visitors in the course of a few hours as 
she had done during the whole of her life in Australia. 
The next day there was a snowstorm, with invitation cards 
for flakes, on her table. 

She had become a Personage in London society. 

Of all forms of slavery iii the world that of a Personage 
in London society is the least disagreeable. The bitter 
draught was, she admitted, most successfully disguised. 
Every day brought her something new and interesting. 
She did not consider the possibility that she herself was 
regarded as the newest and, consequently, the most interest- 
ing of the features of the season. She felt that the people 
who showered invitations upon her did so out of kindness 
to her. She did not consider if it might not be that the 
people were anxious only to increase the success of their 
own entertainments by securing her for them. 

Julian Charlton had lived in London society for some 
years. He had been a Personage in the best scientific 
“ set.” He had made some discoveries of an interesting 
but unnegotiable nature. Pie had been assured by a practi- 
cal worker that if he turned all his attention in the direc- 
tion of threading needles by electricity, a fortune would be 
the inevitable result. Another hinted at the manufacture 
of aerated tea and coffee, another at the utilization of 
seaweed for the making of apple jelly, and yet another 
at the invention of an odorless disinfectant for the pocket. 


ON BEING A PERSONAGE. 297 

There was money in each of these things, he was 
assured. 

He had ventured into none of these fields of enterprise. 
He had simply devoted himself, with considerable success, 
to the discovery of a practicable unit for the measurement 
of the centrifugal force put into action in the spinning of a 
humming top. He had thus obtained a name among the 
scientific workers of the day, and had been for some 
seasons new and interesting to society. He was not 
deceived by the arctic appearance of Bertha’s table every 
morning. Those hummocks of snowy cards did not 
deceive him into fancying that they were sent with the sole 
device of giving pleasure to Bertha. He knew that they 
had been sent in order to increase the success of the 
entertainments to which they referred. 

He often wondered if it was known in any direction in 
town that Bertha and he had never gone through the 
ceremony of marriage together. He had seen Marian 
Travers and Cyril Southcote more than once at large “ At 
Homes ” — so called probably because the hostess was less 
at home than anyone else — and he wondered if either 
Marian or Cyril had taken the trouble to narrate the scene 
which had occurred in the drawing room at the Court, 
when Lady Rushton had made her call. Julian was indif- 
ferent on the matter. He knew that, if it were to become 
universally known that he and Bertha had not gone through 
any ceremony of marriage together, the invitation cards 
would continue to arrive as plentifully as ever. The 
people in London society have no time to think of such 
things as morals. They want something new and interest- 
ing, and they do not care whether or not it comes to them 
in a questionable shape, so long as it comes. The divorce 
court has provided London society with many of its new 
and interesting heroines. 

Julian noticed that Bertha did not now show any desire 


398 


**/ FORBID THE BANNS!" 


I 


to spread abroad the principles upon which her life with 
him was founded. She did not seek for an opportunity to 
prove to the people whom she met that the ceremony of 
marriage was an insult to that mystic love which alone 
should form the foundation for marriage. 

Bertha found that what were her principles were the 
theories of quite a number of persons with whom she 
came in contact, and who were also regarded as interesting 
to society. They called themselves Free Lovers, and they 
were all very respectable people. She noticed that all the 
women who had made a name for themselves by promul- 
gating these theories of love and spiritual marriage and 
affinity — this word was largely made use of by these 
ladies — were themselves snugly married according to the 
law of the land — all except one. She was unmarried. She 
was also angular, elderly, and spectacled. She divided her 
time equally in discussing the questions appertaining to 
woman’s sufferings and woman’s suffrage. The sufferings 
related to marriage, the suffrage to something else. No 
one had offered to take her at her word in regard to her 
theories of free love. She remained free as the air, and 
quite as unwholesome as that of London. 

Not one of this band of theorizers had made her theories 
the principles of her life. Bertha perceived this very 
clearly, and she felt that they were little better than 
figurantes. They were posing for the sake of effect as 
original thinkers. She alone had had the courage to act in 
accordance with her convictions. 

She listened passively while these sham Free Lovers dis- 
coursed on the subject of their theories. Some declared 
that the emancipation of woman was at the point of being 
achieved through the universal acceptance of the spiritual 
marriage ; others talked of the glorious future that awaited 
those women who had never met with their affinity on 
earth, but who were perfectly certain that they would meet 


ON BEING A PERSONAGE. 


299 


him in heaven. What would happen then no one seemed 
exactly to know ; but there was a vague belief that the 
moralities would be carefully respected. Then there was 
the sublime question of the man and woman who had been 
mistaken in their affinities on earth, but who were carefully 
awaited by their affinities in another world. There seemed 
to be a tacit understanding that the waiting affinities would 
not mind the others having lived together for half a century 
or so on earth, which showed that the affinities were not 
particular, but of an extremely obliging nature. 

There were also the ladies in the sect who declared that 
they had had repeated conversations with their affinities 
who were in another world. It was only by the anticipa- 
tion of such sublime moments that they dragged on their 
existence by the side of their fleshly husbands, they said. 
If one might judge from the nature of the reported con- 
versation of the affinities they were a commonplace lot. 
The fleshly husbands could give them points, a youth 
remarked to Bertha in an undertone, after listening to the 
discourse of one of these ladies. 

Others had had visits from their affinities — usually by 
night ; for it seems that the affinities are fondest of the 
night for paying hurried calls. Their appearance to the 
ladies who were describing these mysteries in subdued 
tones, but with infinite expression, brought before Bertha’s 
eyes a vision of a badly burning night-light. 

The precise result of these mystic visits was wrapped in 
obscurity, but it was inferred that the affinities had gone 
away without a stain on their character. Indeed, so far as 
could be gathered, the affinities were incapable of anything 
that was not strictly moral — a fact which was considered in 
some directions rather hard on the affinities, and, perhaps, 
on those whom they visited. 

Bertha turned away from all this jargon — from all this 
concealment of a divine truth beneath the tawdry garments 


300 “/ FORBID THE BANNS!'' 

of the footlights. These Free Lovers, as they called 
themselves, were, she perceived, only a more vulgar devel- 
opment of the essentially vulgar spiritualists. The spirit- 
ualists, she knew, were people who were devoid in all their 
thoughts of everything that was spiritual. So these Free 
Lovers were devoid of any true idea of love. 

Great Heavens ! how the world has fallen away from the 
poetry of paganism ! 

This was the girl’s feeling as she heard these sorry 
figurantes raising their hands and their eyebrows as they 
talked, in the low tones one instinctively adopts in telling a 
child a ghost story, about their affinities, conjuring up 
pictures that were meant to be sublime, but that smelt of 
the nursery. The pagan poets could do better than that. 
Their spirits were spiritual. They did not suggest a night- 
light that had been kept in a damp cupboard. 

Bertha turned with relief to the theology which entered 
into the daily life of paganism. Suckled in a creed out- 
worn,’ ” she cried. “ ‘A creed outworn,’ while the creeds 
that remain find such exponents as those creatures, with 
their jargon of affinities and spiritism, and theosophy, caring 
as little as their audiences what the words mean ! ” 

She knew they were not in earnest. They believed only 
in snug homes, following the marriage ceremony in a 
church. They were not in earnest, and the people who 
listened to them were not in earnest. 

“What does it matter?” cried Julian. “People here 
haven’t time to be in earnest. They don’t want to be in 
earnest. They want to be entertained, and these Free 
Lovers are supposed to be entertaining.” 

“ They are little better than impostors,” said Bertha. 

“ Impostors ? Why, they do not deceive even them- 
selves,” said he. 

“ They cause people to treat with levity and ridicule 
a matter which is the most sacred that anyone can 


ON BEING A PERSONAGE. 


301 


approach,” said Bertha. “ Never mind,” she added ; “ we 
are right — so much is certain.” 

There was a considerable pause before he said : 

“ Yes, I suppose there can be no doubt about that.” 

She turned to him quickly. 

“ There is something in your voice that suggests doubt,” 
said she. “ I have felt now and again — I don’t know why 
-T-that our thoughts do not flow together as they used to 
do. Can it be possible that there is in your heart a meas- 
ure of doubt as to the truth of the principles which we 
made the rule of our life together ?” 

“ Why do you ask' me that ? ” said he. “ Have you had 
any reason, since we came together, to reproach me with 
having failed to stand by your principles ? When Lady 
Rushton turned upon you, did 1 not turn her out of my 
house ? Where have I failed in my duty to you ? ” 

“Why, you talk as if the principles upon which we live 
were mine alone, Julian,” she cried. “What does your 
reference to standing by me mean, if not that ? What merit 
is there to be claimed for your standing by the principles 
which you yourself have accepted, and in which you 
assured me you believed with all your heart ?” 

“ None whatever,” he answered. “I do not claim any 
merit for anything I have done. I only claim to be 
exempted from any reproach.” 

“ Forgive me if you think 1 have spoken too strongly to 
you, my dearest,” said she. “ But you know what reason I 
have to feel strongly on this matter. If I thought that you 
had any misgiving as to the truth and the value of the 
principles which have guided me — us — both you and me — 
in joining our lives together, I would consider that my life 
was wrecked.” 

“ You have no reason to doubt me,” said he. 

“ And I am sure that I never shall,” she cried quickly. 
“ I feel that what Sir Ecroyd said on this matter is quite true.” 


302 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


“ What who said ? ” asked Julian after a pause. 

“What Sir Ecroyd said. I told him all that we believe 
on the subject of marriage and its sanctity without the need 
for shackles.” 

“My God ! you told Sir Ecroyd that ?” 

“ Yes, and he was greatly interested in it all. Only, as I 
told you just now, he said that the strength of such a com- 
pact as ours is largely dependent upon the man. I say that 
I feel the truth of this every day.” 

“You have been confiding in Sir Ecroyd, indeed,” 
remarked Julian, with a voice and face devoid of expression, 
but with a heart burning with the fierceness of a seven 
times heated furnace. 

“ I cannot say that I had any intention of doing so when I 
left home for the Berwicks yesterday ; but somehow I found 
myself telling him all that I hoped for in this matter. I 
had gone with him to lt)ok at a certain orchid in the green- 
house, and I suppose he led the conversation into that par- 
ticular channel. He is very clever.” 

“ Yes, I think so much must be admitted,” said Julian. 
“ He led you first into a track that brought you into the 
orchid-house, and when there he led you into a conversa- 
tional track that brought you up to the point at which you 
confided in him. Yes, I think you have come to the right 
conclusion in this matter. Sir Ecroyd is a clever man.” 

“ You are speaking in a curious tone, Julian,” said she. 
“ I like Sir Ecroyd better than any man I have yet met in 
England. I told you so long ago. Why should I have 
hesitated to tell him what I am not ashamed of — that you 
and I ” 

“ Oh, why should you — why should you hesitate for a 
moment ? ” he cried, with bitterness in every word. “ Why 
should you not confide all that is in your heart to this 
model cabinet minister — this sympathetic Controller of 
Annexations ! A clever man — a very clever man ! I 


ON BEING A PERSONAGE. 


303 


wonder if all the young wives in London pour into his will- 
ing ear a full and true account of the rules that guide their 
lives ? I wonder does he give them all the same advice — 
namely, to look carefully after their husbands.” 

“ I don’t know whether you are talking in jest or in 
earnest,” she said quietly. “ But 1 know that only once 
before did I hear you talk in the same tone. I do not 
like the tone ; it is not the tone of a true husband to a true 
wife.” 

“ Perhaps it is not,” said he. “ But now and again, you 
know, people find themselves under such conditions as 
force them to ask, ‘ What is truth ? ’ ” 

He left the room quickly. The fact was that he feared 
she might do so first, as she had done some weeks before, 
when the little cloud had floated across their life. 

When Bertha found herself alone she was conscious 
only of having received a blow fronf an unseen hand, as it 
were. She had a pained sensation, but at first she felt only 
benumbed. 

Her spirit apprehends the sense of pain. 

But not its cause. 

So Shelley described such a sensation as that which 
Bertha experienced. 

What had she done — what had she said, to give rise to 
such an expression of bitter feeling on the part of Julian ? 

She could not remember having said or done anything. 
His words were mysterious. 

What spirit had taken possession of him to cause him to 
talk to her in this way ? She recollected what he had said to 
her on that day at the Court, when they had returned from 
Ashmead. The words which he had just spoken to her 
were not the same, but the tone in which they were uttered 
was exactly the same. What did he mean by employing 
such a tone to her ? 

She had heard of men— especially husbands — being 


3^4 “/ FORBID THE BAHNS!'^ 

easily put out.” The most trivial matter occasionally 
affected them in this way, she had heard from some wise 
women — especially wives — whom she had known in 
Australia. The dampness of the first match in a box of 
matches had been known to lay the foundation for a 
quarrel between a husband and wife that ended only in 
a family council and a deed of separation. The bursting 
of a buttonhole had in another case let loose a flood of 
vituperation in the choicest San Franciscan tongue ; while 
the anger aroused in a third case by the over-frizzling of 
a slice of bacon was only partially appeased by the destruc- 
tion of every article of china in the room, and of a mirror as 
well. 

She did not believe that Julian was a man who was given 
tp the expression of feeling through the medium of a 
casual projectile. But surely it would be better for him to 
break all the mirrors in the house than to speak to her in a 
tone that implied that she had been guilty of something 
passing those ordinary irritations of wives, which lead to the 
destruction of porcelain and the wrecking of furniture. 

The worst of all was that she could not guess what was 
the cause of his bitterness. The wife who had told her 
about the burst buttonhole had at least the satisfaction of 
looking at the rent linen, and the one who had mentioned 
the bacon incident could contemplate the overcooked slice, 
and know that it had brought about the necessity for a visit 
to the china shop ; but she had nothing tangible in this way 
to lay hold of to account for Julian’s display of feeling. 

She felt bewildered at first, then pained, then bewildered 
again, an'd then she rang for her maid — the substitute she 
had obtained in room of the faithless Miriam — to dress her 
to go forth to where a certain Mrs. Abed Nego — the wife 
of the distinguished financier — was at home ” with 
** dancing ” in the corner, if the invitation card might be 
taken to suggest anything. 


CHAPTER XLII. 


ON THE SMILE OF MISS TRAVERS. 

TRANCING” was in the corner of Mme. Abed Nego’s 
Ly card, but this graceful exercise was not confined to 
one corner of her spacious mansion. Everybody knows 
the Abed Negos — especially every person who has done 
business with Mr. Abed Nego. It is said that they are of 
Hebrew origin, and perhaps they are. There are, how- 
ever, many persons who assert that their earliest pro- 
genitor was a Persian. Perhaps he was. People in 
London society have, however, long ago abandoned asking 
the question “ Who were they ? ” in favor of the question 
“ Who are they ? ” and it was generally admitted that, if 
the Abed Negos had once been Jewish-Persians, they were 
now the most successful of dance givers, dinner givers, 
and garden party givers in London. 

Why the wife of Mr. Abed Nego was called madame, no 
one knew ; but yet everyone alluded to her as madame, 
though she had not a millinery shop in Bond Street or Regent 
Street. The purchase of a millinery business in either of 
these localities carries with it the title of madame, just as 
some estates in Italy are sold with the title of marchese or 
barone, as the case may be. No one, however, thought of 
alluding to Mr. Abed Nego as monsieur. 

Mr. Abed Nego was a successful financier, and dealt 
largely in transactions having an intimate association with 
Greece, Turkey, and the Levant. He had obtained im- 
mense concessions in many lands in exchange for cash. 
The Levant and the Levanters — the name is an unhappy 
one, but it is not deficient in descriptiveness— are usually 

305 


3o6 I forbid the banns r* 

in need of cash, and as Mr. Abed Nego had usually the 
control of large sums, it was generally assumed that he 
could purchase the souls of the entire Levant population, 
even allowing one soul to every man, woman, and child, 
which is certainly a more liberal allowance than the 
experience of such persons as are thoroughly conversant 
with that quarter of the world would be disposed to con- 
cede to the population. 

Mr. Abed Nego did very much better. The Levantine 
soul, though admittedly an article of commerce, does not rank 
high as a negotiable security. A tramway concession, when 
it relates to a populous district, does ; and Mr. Abed Nego 
had obtained not merely tramway concessions, but tele- 
graph, telephone, and electric lighting concessions, all of 
which offered magnificent possibilities in the way of floating 
companies in England. By the judicious disposal of his 
claims it was reported that Mr. Abed Nego had cleared 
a .trifle over two millions of pounds — not Egyptian, but 
English. He had, at the same time, become a person to be 
considered in any scheme that might be devised for solving 
the Eastern question. It was said that even Russia had 
offered to buy him, but without success, Mr. Abed Nego 
feeling that his hands would be more free if he remained 
unbought — a conclusion that did credit to his sagacity. 

He was in parliament, where again he displayed his 
sagacity by remaining silent session after session. He had, 
however, helped the government in some of their Eastern 
difficulties — for a consideration, this being that royalty was 
to be present at one of Mme. Abed Nego’s parties. 

Royalty had been, as usual, obedient. Some thousands 
of (nominal) Christians in Asia Minor had been emanci- 
pated from the thraldom of Mussulman rule, and Mme. 
Abed Nego had become a personage in society. It was 
understood that both Mr, and Mme. Abed Nego were 
greatly interested in the progress of Christianity in the 


ON THE SMILE OF MISS TRAVERS. 307 

Levant, and if a larger proportion of gentlemen of a 
Levantine cast of countenance, atid of ladies of Levantine 
figures, than one expected to find in a London drawing 
room might be found at some of Mme. Abed Nego’s 
parties, this fact was generally accepted as proving the 
lady’s anxiety to bring the various races that come from 
the Eastern shores of the Mediterranean under the benign 
influences of Christianity. 

While Bertha and Julian were being driven to Saxe- 
Coburg House, the mansion of the Abed Negos, they did 
not exchange many words, and such as they did exchange 
were in regard to the most commonplace topics. The 
approach of the first cloud had been clearly defined. It 
had come in a heavy mass, if its area had not been very 
great. It had thrown a well-defined shadow over them ; 
but this new obscuration of their domestic sunshine was 
lighter and partook more of the character of a clinging 
mist around them. It did not cast a dark shadow upon 
them, but they had breathed of its dimness. It had entered 
into their life. Bertha felt feverish. Julian felt as if he 
were by the side of a stranger as they walked along the 
scarlet drugget which was laid down on the short drive 
within the grounds of Saxe-Coburg House, and crushed 
their way up the fine staircase, to be greeted by their heated 
host and scented hostess, and then to pass on to one of the 
great drawing rooms, where an entertainer was producing 
sweet music by touching the edges of a number of tum- 
blers partly filled with water. Later in the night a lady 
gave a whistling entertainment in the same apartment, 
while in a more distant room, a sallow-faced gentleman 
gave imitations of popular actors, taking the wise precaution 
of announcing beforehand the particular actor he meant to 
imitate. In the grounds c^f Saxe-Coburg House a certain 
Green Scandinavian Band performed at intervals. 

The electric light was worshiped by Mr. Abed Nego — 


3o8 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


another instance of the irresistible influence of heredity 
people said — this was, of course, assuming that his ances- 
tors had been Persians. However this may be, he was cer- 
tainly fond of being in the midst of this illuminant. His 
gardens were in a blaze of it. In the great square vesti- 
bule it glittered among blocks of ice and huge palms, and 
in the supper rooms it twinkled among the festoons of 
roses brought by a special train from the Riviera. Mme. 
Abed Nego may originally have been a Persian, but she 
was now judicious, and insisted on having the indoor lights 
tinged with yellow, consequently her guests were not afraid 
to enter the most brightly illuminated of her drawing rooms, 
though complexions are becoming more evanescent every 
day. 

It was, however, in the greenhouses, which were reached 
through a corridor from one of the supper rooms, that the 
electric lights were allowed a chance of making the strong- 
est contrast of brilliancy and shadow. The greenhouses 
were a marvel of beauty. Many were about the extent of 
a whole block of buildings, and contained fountains, and 
ponds, with water lilies floating on their surface, and over- 
hung by great palms planted among rock work. 

Almost the first person on whom Bertha’s eyes rested on 
entering the room where the tumbler music was being pro- 
duced was Charlie Barham, the midshipman, looking as 
handsome and as bright as ever, as he chatted away to a 
statuesque girl, who now and again went so far as to smile 
at some of the terms with which he besprinkled his narrative. 

On seeing Bertha enter by the side of Charlton poor 
Charlie’s story was suddenly arrested, just when it was 
approaching a point of enormity that even a stranger could 
scarcely allow to pass unchallenged. His face became 
overcast for a moment, but then assumed an exaggerated 
look of resignation, as he hastened to meet Bertha and to 
clasp the hand which she stretched out to him. 


ON THE SMILE OF MISS TRAVERS, 309 

“ At last,” he murmured, “ at last ! ’’ 

“Yes, at last, indeed,” said Bertha. “ How is it that we 
have never met, although my husband and I have been 
everywhere during the past month ?” 

“Your hus — hus — oh, I cannot say the word,” said Char- 
lie. “ Your — oh, do not ask me to say it.” 

“ Do not be a goose,” said Bertha. “ There is no com- 
pulsion to say the hated word. Let it be understood.” 

“ And I have looked down the first column of at least 
one newspaper every day, expecting and hoping that the 
blow might be spared to me. How did I miss seeing Charl- 
ton V. Lancaster ? No, they don’t put the v. in the marriages, 
only in the law cases. Never mind ; it was not to be, so far 
as I was concerned. And yet, if you had only waited for 

eight years — perhaps for seven, with good luck Oh, 

don’t fear for me, I won’t make a scene. Charlton, old boy, 
be worthy of her ; and if you don’t mind spending a trifle of 
money in a good cause, bring her every spring to lay some 
wild flowers on my grave. Take any ice you please with 
the exception of the pineapple ; the pineapple will make 
you wish that you were attending a sacred concert, where 
you are expected to look solemn. Mme. Darius should 
be better advised in the matter of ices.” 

“ Who is Mme. Darius ? ” asked Bertha. 

“ Why, you have just shaken hands with her,” said 
Charlie. “ Madame is descended from Darius and Nebu- 
chadnezzar and King Pharaoh, don’t you know ? ” 

“Not from all, surely?” 

“ Why not ? They all belong to the one lot, and they 
all slept with their fathers.” 

“ I begin to fancy myself once more aboard the Car- 
narvon Castle^ hearing the sound of your voice, Charlie.” 

Why Bertha should feel some difficulty in keeping the 
tears from her eyes as she spoke it would be hard to say. 
Perhaps the sound of the boy’s voice brought back to her 


310 


I FORBID THE BANNS! 


a memory of the happiness of that voyage in the Carnar- 
von Castle^ and perhaps she felt that those days were hap- 
pier than any sh^ had experienced since she had come 
to London. 

‘‘And I,” said Charlie; “if you feel like that what 
must 7ny feelings be? He will never love you as I have 
loved you. Look how he has gone off with — why, it’s 
that Miss Travers ; he is taking her to where the tea and 
sherbet are laid out.’* 

Julian had drifted away, greeting several persons whom 
he had been in the habit of meeting night after night — 
companion ships in the whirlpool of society — and finding 
himself by the side of Marian Travers had offered to pilot 
her to the tea room. Bertha watched them glide away in 
the midst of a crowd, and it occurred to her that Julian’s 
face had become much brighter since he had met Marian 
than it had been during any part of the day. 

She also noticed the smile with which Marian Travers 
had greeted him, and the way she was even now looking up 
to his face. 

All at once there came to her for the first time the 
curious thought : 

“ He is bound to me by no tie. If he chose to walk with 
her out of the door I could not compel him to return to 
me.” 

It came to her in a moment, and its sting reached her 
heart. 

“Why, where is all your fun gone?” cried Charlie. 
“Alas, that marriage should produce such a change ! Why, 
don’t you remember how no day passed without something 
to keep us merry as sand boys ? ” 

“ I suppose we were very merry,” said she. “ It seems 
so long ago.” 

“ Great Heavens ! You say that quite sadly,” cried 
Charlie. “ That’s the way you all get as soon as you 


ON THE SMILE OF MISS TEA FEES. 31 1 

marry. No matter what larks we have had together, you 
all get so proper inside a month, as if a marriage and a 
funeral meant just the same thing. It’s only for the first 
month or so that you are sad, however ; I notice that all 
you young things become lively once more in a year or two. 
You then either take up with an extremely young or an 
extremely old man — mostly the latter — the old boys are 
such jolly old asses.” 

“ How wise you are, Charlie, and how observant.” 

“ Oh, I’ve kept my eyes open, I can tell you. The fun- 
niest sight in the world is an old boy that marries a bright 
young thing. He is under the impression that marrying 
her'brings him down to exactly her age. Poor old chaps ! 
I have often pitied them, knowing that it means a push on 
of twenty years with them instead of a drawback of forty. 
Oh, I have had my eyes open. Never mind ! you are the 
best girl I have ever met, and worth a score of Marian 
Travers. I don’t say that because she took a sovereign off 
me.” 

“ How did she take a sovereign off you ? ” 

“ You see, she made up her mind at the Cape to hook 
Charlton, and we had a few bets as to whether or not she 
would succeed before reaching England.- I backed her to 
do it, and Waring topk me up. 1 handed him over the coin 
when we passed Dover. But I give you my word that if 
you had not come aboard the thing was a moral. It was 
indeed. Before we reached St. Helena I would have had 
to offer five to one on the girl.” 

“ I hope you do not talk like this to everyone, Charlie. 
I don’t consider it quite respectful to a girl to make her the 
subject of a bet. You did not bet on me, I hope.” 

“I would lay every penny I have on you ; but I never 
did. You were always far above me — a saint, or something 
of that sort — only a saint with a lot of fun in her. And to 
think that I just came here to-night by chance. You see, 


312 


/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


my governor is in the iron line, and he has got the order 
for five hundred miles of tramway rails through King 
Darius, and he wants to be civil to him ; but he said he’d 
be hanged if he’d go to Mme. Darius’ squeeze — meaning 
this joyous entertainment, so I came in his place — for a 
consideration. And here I meet you — and — now what is 
it that young Darius is bringing up to you ? ” 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


ON SOME FORMS OF IMPUDENCE. 

W HAT the eldest son of Mr. and Mme. Abed Nego 
was conducting to Bertha was a rather undersized 
gentleman, wearing as a stud in the center of his shirt the 
largesLdiamond Bertha had ever seen, and upon his feet the 
smallest shoes she had ever seen. He had an immense nose, 
that suggested the beak of a tropical nut-eating bird, and 
eyes that suggested two of the nuts — black ones — which such 
a bird would attack with deliberation. 

^ “ Mrs. Charlton,” said young Mr. Abed Nego, “ will you 
allow me to present to you my friend, Mr. Betstein ? Mr. 
Betstein — Mrs. Charlton.” 

“ It is a great bleasure to be to beet you, Bissus Charl- 
tod,” said Mr. Betstein. I have frequetly beed dear you 
at these sort of affairs, but I dever had the bleasure of beig 
bresented to you before.” 

“ I am sure I have seen you frequently, Mr. Betstein,” 

said Bertha. “ One meets so many persons ” 

“ Of course that is quite true,” said Mr. Betstein. “ Ad 
I dow that I’b acobbodplace sort of fellow — like wod of the 
crowd, you dow.” ' Here Mr. Betstein gave a little snuffle, 
and smiled at his gloves, which fitted admirably. “ Do’t 
you thik you have had edough of that chap with the tub- 
blers, Bissus Charltod ? ” he continued. “ That sort of thig 
isn’t by idea of the use tubblers should be put to.” 

Bertha said she thought the tumbler music very interest- 
ing indeed. She remained in the hope that some kindly 
friend of hers would arrive to rescue her from the intoler- 
able brilliancy of Mr. Betstein’s diamond stud and raven 


313 


314 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


locks. It so happened, however, that no one who entered 
the room seemed to perceive her, and she was forced to 
listen to the variations on “Ah, che la morte,” produced by 
the professor of the musical glasses, and to the vocal accom- 
paniment of Mr. Betstein’s conversation, punctuated with 
snuffles. 

In sheer despair, after ten minutes waiting for a rescuer, 
she rose and allowed herself to be conducted by Mr. Bet- 
stein to the room where, he told her, the entertainer was 
giving his celebrated imitations of popular actors. She felt 
certain that on the way to the place of entertainment she 
would meet with Cyril Southcote — for was not Marian 
there ? — or Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh — for was the government 
not anxious to conciliate Mr. Abed Nego ? If either of these 
champions failed to rescue her from Mr. Betstein, she would 
trust to some of her casual acquaintances to help her. She 
could not remember having been so long a time at any 
entertainment without meeting at least a score of friends. 
But she had never before been at an entertainment in Saxe- 
Coburg House. 

The corridor was greatly crowded — so much so that an 
advance could only^be effected with great inconvenience 
both to the advancers and those who were advanced upon. 
Mr. Betstein was not gifted with the instincts of progress — 
it is to the West, not to the East, that one looks nowadays 
for the display of such gifts, and Mr. Betstein was clearly of 
Eastern origin. He tried to force his' way through the 
groups, but without success. He was scowled upon by the 
persons whom he had indiscriminately elbowed aside, and 
Bertha felt that she was attracting some attention as the 
companion of the elbower. 

“ Oh, bother it all ! ” exclaimed Mr. Betstein, when less 
than halfway down the corridor. “ I dever cabe id codtact 
with such a rude set. Let us stroll id here, Bissus Charltod, 
till we get a chadce of moving od. It is what Abed Dego 


ON SOME FOE MS OF IMPUDENCE. 31 $ 

calls his Oriedtal roob, but it’s do bore Oriedtal than 
I ab.” 

“ Anywhere out of this,” said Bertha, going through the 
gorgeous hangings of the doorway, surmounted by a Cairo 
carving. 

In less than a quarter of an hour a pale-faced, melan- 
choly man, with a roll of music in his hand, like a field mar- 
shal’s baton, appeared at the end of the corridor. He was 
recognized in a moment. A whisper went down the groups 
that Monomime had arrived. The lugubrious person with 
the music was known as the funniest entertainer in Lon- 
don. And his latest sketch, entitled “ Mrs. Butterfly’s Ball,” 
had taken the town by storm. 

When Mr. Monomine had gone to the music room, the 
corridor was almost deserted. 

Charlie Barham had just heard that unless he hurried 
into the music room he would only just hear Mr. Monomime’s 
marvelous imitation of the calling of the carriages outside 
Mrs. Butterfly’s mansion. So he forsook the ice — not 
pineapple — which he was eating in a secluded nook down- 
stairs (it was his fifth) and hastened along the corridor. 
Just as he was passing the entrance to the Oriental room, 
the heavy hangings of the Cairo doorway billowed forward 
and from their folds a figure burst and stood outside with 
clenched hands and white face, looking around in a dazed 
way. 

“ Great Admiral ! What has happened, Mrs. Charlton ? ” 
cried Charlie. “ For God’s sake, don’t look in that way. 
Surely you’re not one of the fainting lot.” 

“ Charlie,” said Bertha in a voice of hysterical sobs, 
“ take me to — to my husband. I must get away from this 
horrible place — it is stifling me.” 

“ Sorry you are feeling a bit faint,” cried Charlie for the 
benefit of the people who still remained in the corridor, and 
who seemed anxious to learn what had occurred to cause 


3i6 I forbid the banns 

Mrs. Charlton to fling herself in that fashion through the 
portilre of the Cairo doorway. “ A breath of fresh air will 
do you all the good in the world,” he added, putting her 
hand under his arm. Then in a whisper he said, “ Don’t 
give way before these people. Be a brave girl ; remember 
there’s nothing to fear ; I am by your side ; I am ready to 
die for you. Come along.” 

She managed with his assistance to walk to the end of 
the corridor. She did not speak ; she was trembling ter- 
ribly, Charlie could perceive ; and now and again a sob 
th^t suggested the approach of hysterics came from her 
throat. 

“ Now won’t you pull yourself together ? ” said Charlie 
imploringly. “ Don’t give these fools around us the chance 
of talking. You will never be the same to me if you go off 
in a faint. I’ll get you a chair and an ice — not pineapple 
— the vanilla is all right.” 

He saw where there was a vacant seat — a shell made of 
plush — and he had wheeled it to her in a moment. She 
seated herself, and when he suggested the recuperative 
possibilities of Neapolitan ices, she laid her hand on his arm, 
but did not speak. It was some minutes before she was 
able to say in a weak voice : 

“ Thank you, Charlie ; you are my best friend. If you 
would only find Julian and tell him that I wish to be taken 
home.” 

“ Dare I leave you ? ” asked Charlie with the air of an 
amateur lady nurse. “ You have made up your mind not 
to faint ? ” 

“ You may trust me,” she said. “ I promise you not to 
faint.” 

“ On those conditions I will go,” said he. 

He hurried off to the music room and was fortunate 
enough to be just in time to hear Mr. Monomime’s account 
of the dialogue on the stairs of Mrs. Butterfly’s mansion 


ON SOME FORMS OF IMPUDENCE, 317 

between some young couples who were reposing there after 
the exertions of the dance. 

He looked around, but could perceive Julian Charlton 
nowhere. Then he took a stroll through the conservatories, 
but without success. Finally he reached the corridor, hav- 
ing made a fruitless round of the premises. 

Before he reached Bertha again he became aware that 
a man was bending over her. At first he thought that 
the man was Charlton, but in an instant he saw that he was 
a stranger. 

“ I have taken a cruise to every point of the compass, 
Mrs. Charlton, but without getting a sight of your hus- 
band.” 

“ I am so sorry that -you were put to so much trouble, 
Charlie,” said she. “ But Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh has been 
good enough to offer me his brougham to go home by — 
ours will not be here for at least an hour and a half.” 

“ Maybe you are well enough to remain now,” said 
Charlie. 

“ Oh, I am well enough,” she said quickly ; “ but I must 
go — I must leave this place.” 

Sir Ecroyd, who had been bending over her when Charlie 
came up, offered her his arm ; she took it and rose to her 
feet, giving Charlie her other hand with a smile — not the 
smile that he associated with her aboard the Carnarvon 
Castle, however. She went off by the side of the minister, 
whose immobile countenance failed to tell Charlie whether 
or not Bertha had confided the secret of her trouble to him. 

“ It is like their impudence,” said Charlie. “ That big 
fellow, because he happens to be something or other in 
the government, coolly appropriates her while I am search- 
ing for the husband, and then walks off with her to his 
brougham. He will see her home, and maybe sit with her 
for an hour or two, assuring her that he dare not leave 
her alone — I know the tricks of these boys, whether they 


3 i 8 “/ FORBID THE BANNS H* 

are First Lords of the Admiralty or something greatly 
inferior.” 

In the midshipman’s eyes, every post in the government 
was a long way inferior in rank to that of the First Lord of 
the Admiralty. 

He was mistaken respecting the movements of the Min- 
ister of Annexation. Sir Ecroyd had plainly not accom- 
panied Bertha to her home. He returned to where Charlie 
was standing, and his face was as impassive as ever. The 
lad did not change his position as the minister came up. 
He was not the First Lord — he was not even that poor 
thing, a civil lord. 

“ Have you any idea of the cause of Mrs. Charlton’s 
indisposition ? ” asked Sir Ecroyd. “ She told me that 
you were an old friend of hers — one of her best friends.” 

Charlie had been prepared to treat Sir Ecroyd with chill- 
ing formality. The knowledge of boys and their ways and 
moods had, however, been acquired by Sir Ecroyd early in 
life, and he was well aware of what was passing through 
the mind of the excellent specimen before him. If he 
could not manage to make a boy tractable how could he 
hope to trick the opposition ? He knew that Charlie’s 
face would brighten when he spoke his words, just as 
the man who presses the button of an electric bell knows 
that a horrid alarm will be produced at the other end of 
the wire. 

Charlie’s face brightened. 

“ I am her friend, sir,” he replied. 

She said so — her best friend,” 

I hope I may deserve to be called so. Sir Ecroyd.” 

“ I do not doubt that you will. Have you any idea of 
what happened to put her about ? ” 

“ I can’t say that I know for certain. But I can give 
some sort of a guess. Some fellows are damn scoundrels, 
Sir Ecroyd.” 


OiV SOME FORMS OF IMPUDENCE, 319 

They are — damn scoundrels. Have you seen Mr. Charl- 
ton here ? ” 

“ I have just been looking for him. He is out of sight 
somewhere. I wasn’t thinking of him.” 

“ Of whom, then ? ” 

“ Pardon me, Sir Ecroyd,” said Charlie. ‘‘ That is my 
business.” 

“ It is — it is indeed,” said the minister. You think 
that that person said something that was hurtful to Mrs. 
Charlton ? ” 

“ He looked equal to it,” said Charlie. A damn skunk 
of a chap with oily hair and a diamond stud about the size 
of a masthead light. What would a chap stick at that 
has a snuffle like a boiler waste-pipe when the winch is 
working ? ” 

“ Nothing,” replied the minister. “ Don’t make a scene, 
whatever you do. Think what it would be to have Mrs. 
Charlton’s name associated with a scene.” 

“ I flatter myself on not having quite reached the drivel- 
ing stage of idiocy,” said Charlie. “ You may depend on 
'my doing nothing that will compromise a lady whom I 
respect with all the devotion of ” 

“ The word of a British officer,” said Sir Ecroyd, “ is 
enough for me. What is your ship ? ” 

“ The Bluebottle,, sir.” 

“ The Bluebottle. You may depend on my remembering 
it. Lord Gerald dines with me on Saturday.” 

Up went Charlie’s right forefinger to an imaginary cap 
peak. 

Sir Ecroyd was only a cabinet minister, but Charlie could 
not have treated him with greater respect if he had been 
the navigating lieutenant of a corvette. 

Lord Gerald was First Lord of the Admiralty. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


ON THE DISADVANTAGES OF ELECTRIC LIGHT. 

C HARLIE BARHAM could not be said to contribute 
materially to the success of Mme. Abed Nego’s “ At 
Home.” Dancing had comnienced in the ballroom, but 
he would not dance. He was devoting a night to the dis- 
covery of Mr. Betstein. He had, of course, no positive 
assurance that Mr. Betstein was the origin of Bertha’s sud- 
den appearance at the doorway of the Oriental room, but 
he had his own suspicions on the subject ; and he knew 
that Mr. Betstein’s peculiarities of articulation would be 
accepted by all reasonable people as strong presumptive 
evidence that he was quite equal to insulting a lady. 

He went through the Cairo doorway at once, and strolled 
casually among the divans, most of which were now occu- 
pied. Mr. Betstein was not to be seen among any of the 
groups in this interesting apartment, nor was he in either 
the ballroom, the supper room, or where the claret cup and 
ices were to be had. There were many apartments in Mr. 
Abed Nego’s mansion, but Charlie did not think that he 
could honorably pursue his search after Mr. Betstein to the 
kitchens or the bedrooms, though he was quite satisfied that 
Mr. Betstein would not shrink from the attempt to conceal 
himself in either the upper or the lower apartments. 

He spent more than an hour in the search through the 
rooms before he went out to the electric lit grounds, where 
the Green Scandinavian Band was making the air melodious. 
After all, he felt that it would be much more satisfactory 
for him to come across Mr. Betstein in the open air. One 

380 


ON THE DISADVANTAGES OF ELECTRIC LIGHT. 321 

has always a freer hand in punching a man’s head in the open 
air. In the midst of a breezy landscape one does a thing 
of this sort very much better than when subjected to the 
restrictions incidental to such a transaction within doors ; 
and Charlie Barham meant to punch the head of Mr. Bet- 
stein before he slept. 

He knew he could do it without causing an undue strain 
upon his powers. 

It is satisfactory for anyone to feel equal to the duty of 
punishing a man who has behaved like a scoundrel. On 
the other hand, it is very irritating when your scoundrel 
stands anything over six feet, especially if he is made in 
proportion. When he is made in proportion you will be 
acting wisely — unless you stand six feet three yourself — if 
you leave him to the gnawing of his own conscience. 

Charlie knew that Mr. Betstein was heavily handicapped 
in any personal conflict by his nose. Such an organ invited 
the aggressive fist. It did not need that one should be 
more than a casual critic to perceive that Mr. Betstein ’s 
face presented fine opportunities to an assailant, and 
Charlie was more than a casual critic. He was something 
of a connoisseur in such matters ; and he honestly believed 
that the shape and superficial area of Mr. Betstein’s nose 
invited interference. 

These open air reflections naturally increased the eager- 
ness of the lad to discover the whereabouts of the person to 
whom they referred. Only once did the thought occur to 
him that it was quite possible that Mrs. Charlton’s nerv- 
ousness might not be due to Mr. Betstein. He crushed 
down this unworthy suggestion, and hurried on to the only 
quarter that he had left unexplored — namely, the green- 
houses. 

The large palm house with the dome contained many 
persons sitting, mostly in couples, on the low and luxurious 
chairs in the recesses among the palms. Among these 


322 


“/ FORBID THE BA HNS/ 


couples he strolled, but no shirt stud gave back the blaze 
of the electric light, as he knew Mr. Betstein’s would have 
done. 

There was another greenhouse beyond this one ; it was 
long, and it was arranged with banks and rockeries for such 
plants as required moisture. It was here that the orna- 
mental ponds with fountains and water lilies were situated. 
The electric light was laid along the ferns and mosses, and 
produced a charmingly subdued effect. Personally, Mr. 
Abed Nego was by no means fond of subdued effects ; but 
he was willing to humor those who were. 

The instant that Charlie opened the door leading to this 
retreat he perceived the blaze of a diamond shirt stud in the 
distance, and the peculiar articulation of Mr. Betstein came 
upon his ears. He had found the person for whom he had 
been searching. 

Mr. Betstein was standing with two other men, who had 
also peculiarities of utterance, one speaking with a lisp, and 
the other with that German accent which has its origin in 
Hamburg. All were smoking cigarettes and exchanging 
remarks on some subject that seemed to be of general 
interest. 

Charlie walked round the longest of the ponds until he 
got in the shadow of the bank beside which the group was 
standing. 

“My boy,” one of the three was saying, “you have no 
discretion. You treat all ladies alike. That’s how you 
find yourself in scrapes.” 

“You’re wrog there, Bordecai, old bad,” came the voice 
of Mr. Betstein. “I treat all ladies of wud class alike, ad 
all of adother class alike ; I ab do fool.” 

“That’s true enough,” remarked the other. “But fora 
man that’s no fool you find yourself in a good many close 
things.” 

He pronounced the words “ yourthelf ” and “ cloth.” 


OJSr THE DISADVANTAGES OF ELECTRIC LIGHT. 323 

“ Every chap with a bit of spirit bust occasiodally,” said 
Mr. Betstein. “ But how was I to guess that the youg 
wobad would cut up rough ? ” 

Somebodys have been blaying a yoke down in you, 
Betstein, mein fren,” said the Hamburg gentleman. Thot 
young ting has been all square married all ze times." 

“ I tell you what is well knowd," said Mr. Betstein. 
“ She is do bore harried to hib thad I ab to her. I give 
you by word of hodder as a gettlebad that I broke the thig 
to her as a gettlebad should. I said, ‘ I’b id love with you 
at first sight, by dear, ad as I’b a bisidess bad, I probise to 
cub dowd hadsobe. So dabe your figure ; I’b a bad of 
hodder,’ I added, ’ad dever let boney stad in the way of 
love.’ Those were by words.’’ 

“Yes, they were fair and straightforward,’’ said one of 
the audience. “ She would have nothing to complain of, 
unless you were mistaken at the outset. If she isn’t mar- 
ried all square, how could she come here ? There you are.’’ 

“ How ? Well, you are ad outsider dot to dow that 
thigs dowadays are very different frob what they were whed 
we were youg, Bordecai. Why, the people they allow idto 
respectable society id these days would have bade our 
fathers ad bothers blush. If a bad or wobad is coddected 
with ady fad — eved baking light of so sacred a thig as bar- 
riage, they will be adbitted idto the best society.’’ 

“ Dos is ver differently to us in Hamburg,’’ said the 
German. “ In Hamburg ve have yet ze ver best society 
zat may be had in all through Europe. No more cigarette 
for me. I go to make my vay out. Come ’long.’’ 

“ Dot be — dot be,’’ said Betstein. “ I have do barticular 
wish to fide byself in frot of ad iddigdat husbad. I bead 
to stay here till the dager is past. I’ll be the last to leave 
the ship.’’ 

After a few jocularities, Mr. Betstein’s friends went off, 
and Mr. Betstein was left alone — as he thought. 


324 “/ FORBID THE BANNS!" 

He lit another cigarette and began to hum an operatic 
air. He was a great patron of the lyric stage. 

“ Mr. Betstein,” said Charlie, stalking round and facing 
the diamond stud, “ I want to have a few words with you, if 
you please.” 

Eh,” said Mr. Betstein, looking at him from head to 
foot. “ Who bay you be, bister ?” 

“ It doesn’t matter who I am,” said Charlie. ‘‘ I want to 
know what it was you said to the lady who was foolish 
enough to go with you into that room off the corridor.” 

“ Go to the devil,” remarked Mr. Betstein with some 
fierceness. 

“ I’ll do the nearest thing to it, for I’ll go for you, you 
infernal Jew,” said Charlie. Now look out for yourself.” 

Mr. Betstein may have looked out for himself, but he 
certainly failed to look out for Charlie. The boy had done 
a good deal of fighting since he had commenced at six years 
of age. A good deal of promiscuous fighting can be done 
at intervals between the ages of six and seventeen, and 
Charlie Barham had lost no legitimate opportunity of 
practicing. 

He spared Mr. Betstein’s nose until Mr. Betstein had 
kicked him twice on the leg, and this so irritated him, that 
he gave up all idea of resisting the temptation the nose 
offered him. That organ fared badly during the next few 
seconds, and also Mr. Betstein’s teeth, which were very 
white, and his eyes, which were very black. Then he 
caught Mr. Betstein by the back of his collar, and forced 
him with singular ease, when once he got him under way, 
down the greenhouse, until he was opposite the pond with 
the gold fish and the water lilies. Indeed he only loosed 
his hold when Mr. Betstein’s toes were suddenly arrested 
by the rock work on the margin of the pond. Now, as the 
impetus given to the upper portion of Mr. Betstein’s body 
was not simultaneously arrested, it would be ridiculous to 


ON THE DISADVANTAGES OF ELECTRIC LIGHT. 325 

suppose that the laws of nature should be suspended in his 
favor ; so, while his toes remained among the rock work, 
his body was among the water lilies of the ornamental 
water. 

The-yell that came from Mr. Betstein the moment he 
perceived, with great sagacity, what must be the goal of 
his sudden race, brought several of Mme, Abed Nego’s 
guests from the palm house into the fern house. The 
electric light was quite powerful enough to show them the 
dripping figure of Mr. Betstein rising from the water lilies 
like a burlesque of Aphrodite, and taking good care to 
scramble up at the side farthest from where Charlie was 
standing. 

“ Great Heavens ! what have you been about ? ” cried 
Charlton, who watched the efforts of Mr. Betstein to 
obtain a footing among the stones where the maidenhair 
ferns were growing. 

“ Bolice — get the bolice — ad attebted burder — dothing 
short of burder ! ” sobbed Mr. Betstein, and then ejected a 
piece of water lily {JNymphcea alba^ Linn.) from his mouth. 

He slipped in, Charlton,” said Charlie. “ I was pres- 
ent ; I saw it all from the very first. Look here, you chap,” 
he called out across the water that was still swaying. 
“ Look here — this is Mr. Charlton who wishes to know how 
it came about. I have told him that you slipped in. You 
tell him so too when you have a spare moment. Now 
what do you say ? ” 

“It was ad accidet,” gurgled Mr. Betstein after a pause, 
when he had got rid of a fern frond (Scolopendrium vul~ 
gare) that interfered with his articulation. 

“ There,” said Charlie. “He says it was an accident. 
So it was. I saw it. I’m going home. He had best do 
the same.” 

The fern house was now almost crowded, and the electric 
light revealed the dilapidated figure that had once been 


326 


*‘7 FORBID THE BANNS/ 


Mr. Betstein. Some sympathy was expressed — mostly in 
a tongue that shunned sibilants — for the victim of the acci- 
dent ; but from shadowy nooks came the sound of the 
human giggle, and from the palm house the sound of 
inhuman laughter. 

Mr. Betstein was compelled to walk through the midst of 
the groups who were in the palm house, and through those 
in the room beyond, and then through the rows of footmen, 
who overdid the solemnity that they assumed to an extent 
that made their expression more irritating than if they had 
laughed outright. Through all the pitiless electric light 
shone. 

The cheers of the crowd of loafers that greeted Mr. 
Betstein’s exit from the gates of Saxe-Coburg House to his 
hansom were heard distinctly within the mansion. 

“ You young rascal ! ” said Charlton to Charlie in a low 
tone, and with a suppressed laugh. “You know that you 
threw that poor man into the pond.” 

“ My goodness ! Didn’t you hear him declare solemnly 
that it was an accident?” asked Charlie. “If you mean 
to call him a liar, just say so, and I’ll let him know in the 
morning. You’ll have to fight him then, not me.” 

“ Then you did fight him ? ” 

“ Look here, Charlton,” said the midshipman. “ You go 
home as soon as you can, and tell Mrs. Charlton that you 
came in here and found that little Jew with the big dia- 
mond stud — I wish it was mine, I’d sell it — crawling like a 
slimy thing — don’t you forget the slimy thing — out of the 
pond ; and say that you found me standing on the other 
side of the pond with my knuckles a bit barked, but 
nothing the worse; and, above all, don’t forget to say 
that the chap confessed that it was an accident.” 

“ What do you mean by all these instructions ? ” asked 
Charlton. “ What do you mean by telling me to go home 
to my wife ? Is she not here ? ” 


ON THE DISADVANTAGES OF ELECTRIC LIGHT. 327 

“You don’t deserve to be a husband, Charlton. Mrs. 
Charlton felt unwell and went away more than an hour 
ago.” 

“ Why didn’t you find me and tell me that long ago ? ” 

“ I could neither find you nor Miss Travers.” 

“ What has Miss Travers got to say to the matter ? ” 

“ Nothing whatever — only you had gone off with her, 
goodness knows where.” 

“ You are an impudent young ass, and you’ll get yourself 
into trouble yet,” said Charlton, turning round and walking 
away with clouded brow. 

Charlie Barham stood aghast. This was the way he was 
being treated by the husband of the lady who had been so 
grossly insulted, and so amply avenged ! Was it for this 
he had barked his knuckles on the white teeth of Mr. 
Betstein ? 

“ I wonder if you know as much mathematics as 
would pass you for sub-lieutenant,” said a low voice behind 
him. 

He turned. Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh was standing m the 
shadow of a palm. 

“ I know as much mathematics as would pass me for an 
admiral of the fleet,” said Charlie. “ No man in the 
British Navy can possibly know more than a senior mid- 
shipman. I’m senior midshipman. We represent the 
breaking strain of education in the navy. It takes a chap 
nearly all the rest of his life forgetting what he knew when 
he was senior midshipman. There are even some admirals 
who haven’t quite forgotten all — they are not many, how- 
ever.” 

“ And is there any particular ship you’d like to have 
a berth in when you do pass.” 

“ Rather ! I^et me once get aboard the Mollymawk and 
I’m a made man.” 

“ The Molly — what ? ” 


328 


“/ FORBID THE BA HNS/ 


Great Admiral ! You have never heard of the Molly- 
mawk — Mediterranean squadron ? ” 

‘‘ I’m ashamed to say that I never did.” 

“And you are something in the government ? ” 

“ Something. The Mollymawk. Good-night to you.” 

He moved away before Charlie could raise his barked 
knuckles in the direction of his forehead. 

The lad remained pensive for a few minutes. Then he 
gradually realized that the interview which he had just had 
with the Minister of Annexation was the most important in 
which he had ever had a share. The interviews which he 
had had with naval dignitaries did not invariably leave 
a satisfactory impression when they had passed. Here, 
however, was a dignitary who, though he had not attained 
to the brass button and cocked hat degree of eminence, 
was still regarded as occupying a respectable position, and 
the result of the interview with him was of a most pleasing 
nature. 

“Unless he’s the most confounded sneak in the world, 
I’m a made man,” said Charlie. 

He executed a few steps of a graceful dance known as 
the hornpipe, and then became suddenly thoughtful. The 
night was getting on, the ices would not last forever. The 
soup stage was approaching — soup in cups. 

He made a very wry face in anticipation of this period 
of decadence, and went off to secure another ice — not 
pineapple — while yet there was time. 

He succeeded. The demand for ices had become 
languid. He was helped to one that was not quite so 
solid as it might have been. It was his seventh. It was 
very refreshing. Then he wondered if there was any 
champagne cup handy. 


CHAPTER XLV. 

ON THE APPROACH OF DAWN. 

B ertha sat alone in her drawing room awaiting the 
return of Julian. She could not tell him what had 
occurred. How could she bring herself to repeat the 
words that that man had spoken in her ear in that luxurious 
apartment beyond the Cairo doorway ? She shuddered as 
she recalled the words. What sort of men were these who 
were asked to the houses of presumably respectable — cer- 
tainly wealthy — people ? Were there many like the one 
whom she had just met, she wondered. 

She had an impulse to fly — anywhere — anywhere — away 
from London and London society. Julian had told her 
that she would be received with enthusiasm in London, 
where the people were not so narrow-minded as those in 
Brackenshire. He had spoken truly. She had been wel- 
comed into society ; and this was what it meant — this 
feeling of horror and loathing — not only of the wretch who 
had insulted her, but of herself. She was conscious that a 
change had come over her. She felt that she was no 
longer the pure-minded girl who had worshiped the most 
beautiful ideals and had endeavored to realize them in her 
daily life. She had worshiped the ideal love, and her wor- 
ship had led to this feeling of self-abasement — of humiliation 
to a lower depth than had ever been reached (she thought) 
by any other woman who had ever lived in the world. 

And then she suddenly remembered the way in which 
Julian had gone from her presence in this very drawing 
room. Bitterness that she could not account for had been 
in his tone. 


329 


330 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


Could she account for it now ? 

Was it possible that her eyes were only now opened to 
her position, while Julian’s had been open all the time? 
Was it possible that he had ceased to have that respect for 
her which a husband should have for his wife, if they were 
to live together in harmony ? Was it possible that he 
retained for Marian Travers that feeling which he had had 
for her — according to Charlie Barham’s story — before the 
steamer had anchored off St. Helena ? 

He had been by the side of Marian Travers all the 
evening ; and, perhaps, the reason why he did not return 
to his house was that he preferred remaining by the side of 
Marian Travers. 

This was the last of Bertha’s tumult of thoughts. 

She rose from her chair, and stood leaning against a 
Cabinet above which a mirror hung. She saw the reflection 
of her pale face in the glass by the light of the wax candles 
in the sconces. The face seemed to her that of a stranger, 
and, moreover, a stranger for whom she entertained no 
feeling of regard. 

Was her life wrecked ? 

When Julian returned he appeared to her also in the 
light of a stranger, so great was the strain to which she 
had been subjected by her tumultuous thoughts. 

He expressed his regret that she had been indisposed. 
Perhaps she had been doing too much lately. He was 
sorry he had not heard that she had left Saxe-Coburg 
House until late in the night, he said. 

It was a pity that you had to leave so early,” he added. 

We had a great scene — I would not have missed it for 
worlds. It appears that our young friend Charlie has been 
entertaining an ancient grudge against a certain Mr. 
Betstein — a fellow who was left a few millions by his 
father — and he thought he could not do better than fight 
it out with Betstein in one of the greenhouses. He fought 


ON THE APPROACH OF DAWN. 331 

it out, and threw his enemy into a pond about three feet in 
depth. We entered the greenhouse just in time to see the 
unfortunate fellow working his way up one of the banks as 
far from Charlie as possible. Why are you so excited ? 
Your nerves are really not the thing, Bertha. 

“ No, no, I am not nervous, only — did Charlie — did any- 
one say what was the origin of the quarrel ? ” asked 
Bertha, breathing hard. 

It was most amusing,” said Julian. “Charlie shouted 
across the pond to the fellow : ^ Here is Mr. Charlton, who 
wants to know if you fell in by accident ’ ; and the fellow 
said that it was an accident. You never saw anything so 
comical as the appearance of the bedraggled wretch as he 
sneaked out through the people who were standing about 
the palm house. Talk of a drowned rat ” 

“ And Charlie did not say one word of how the quarrel 
originated ? ” 

“Not a word. It was when I taxed him with having 
thrown the man into the pond that he told me you had 
gone home — yes, he told me not to forget to tell you what 
had happened, and to mention that the fellow had said that 
he had fallen into the pond by accident. You should have 
gone to bed, Bertha, the moment you came in. We have 
to go out again to-morrow night, you must remember.” 

“ I never want to go out anywhere again,” she cried. 
There was a moan in every word. 

“ Absurd ! ” said he. “ What is the matter ? ” 

“Oh, take me away from here, Julian — anywhere — any- 
where — only away from here. I think I shall die or go 
mad if I remain here any longer.” 

She had thrown herself down on a sofa and buried her 
face on one of the arms. 

He watched her for some moments. Clearly her nerves 
had been overstrung by whatever had occurred. 

What was it that had occurred ? 


332 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


He watched her silently. All at once he remembered 
having seen Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh in the course of the night. 
A terrible thought seized him in its grasp. 

“ We could not have been more than an hour at that 
place when you were — let us say, indisposed,” he remarked. 

Not more, I am sure,” she said without looking up. 

“ Then how were you brought here ? The brougham 
was not to return until one o’clock.” 

“ Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh was good enough to offer me his 
brougham,” she replied. “ He only intended remaining a 
short time, and the brougham waited for him.” 

“ Quite so,” said he after a pause. “ That was very 
obliging of Sir Ecroyd. I think I shall go to the smoking 
room, if you don’t mind. My cigarette will not improve 
your condition, and I can see that you are in a state of 
nervous prostration.” 

“ No, no, do not go,” she moaned. “ Stay with me ; 
God knows I need you — someone who can help me.” 

“ How can I help you ? ” said he coldly. “ I cannot 
hope to be a help to a woman whose will is sufficiently 
strong to make the strongest men her slaves. I am only a 
poor thing. You have shown yourself to be stronger than 
I could ever hope to be. I can only leave you alone. 
Your own thoughts will, no doubt, be a help and a comfort 
to you at this time.” 

He had left the room before she could speak — before 
she could comprehend what his words meant. 

What did his words mean ? 

She tried to think, but utterly failed in her attempt. 
The tone that he had adopted was exactly the same as that 
which had caused her to leave the drawing room at the 
Court. 

In an instant she sprang to her feet. 

“ Oh, my God ! ” she cried wildly. “ Can it be possible 
that he has lost all respect for me, as I have lost all for 


333 


ON THE APPROACH OF D^WN. 

myself? Do men change like this when they have lived 
with a woman for a few months ? Is that love which was 
the foundation of this union of ours no more certain basis 
than that ceremony which goes by the name of marriage ? ” 

No more certain ? When had she ever heard of a man 
such as Julian Charlton, when less than two months married 
to such a woman as herself, adopting such a tone of bitter- 
ness as she had just heard from his lips ? 

Young wives had told her of the trials to which they had 
been subjected owing to the shortness of temper of their 
respective husbands. But she had never heard a complaint 
respecting the first six months of marriage. It nearly 
always took a year to develop the husband’s temper to the 
swearing point. Was it possible that the bond of union 
which existed between herself and Julian was weaker than 
the other bond to withstand the daily strains of life ? And 
with these vain questionings there was forced upon her 
the most important inquiry of all ; “ If the first two months 
of our union have ended like this, what future may we 
anticipate ? ” 

Once more she was lying on the sofa with her face buried 
upon one of its pillows. She felt that she could not face 
such a future as appeared before her eyes. 

And the most hopeless aspect of the case was that she 
felt that she loved him as much as she had ever done. 
She loved him so well that she felt strong enough to sepa- 
rate herself from him for evermore, if that would make him 
happy. 

It had actually come to this. She no longer fell back on 
the assurance that they were bound together by a tie that 
admitted of no severing — the tie of love — God’s best gift 
to man — the bondage of soul to soul. 

She. had never spent so miserable a night in all her life. 
As the exquisite dawn forced its way through the blinds of 
the room and glimmered upon the various objects having 


334 


y FORBID THE BANNS! 


smooth surfaces, a longing seized her to return to her old 
home among the blue gums and the interminable pastures 
that she knew so well. Why had she ever left that land ? 
People had laughed and shaken their heads on hearing of 
her intention to travel, and to learn by observation what 
life in various parts of the world meant. They had been 
right when they had suggested in their own way, and so 
far as anyone can suggest anything to a young woman with 
an income of twelve thousand a year, that she had no busi- 
ness to set out on a search of this nature. 

It had come to this with her. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 


ON THE PLUNGE. 

H e watched her as he gave Mrs. Cyrus P. Bates of 
Shantyville, Ky., the best advice in his power respect- 
ing the most effective design for the costume she had set 
her heart on wearing at a certain fancy ball. It was to 
take place in July, at a hotel which an American millionaire 
was about to hire for a week for the entertainment of his 
friends. 

They were standing in joyous groups around one of the 
great drawing rooms of Lady Ashenthorpe’s town house, 
which, as everyone knows, is in Grosvenor Gardens. Lady 
Ashenthorpe, so soon as she perceived that Bertha was 
invited everywhere in London, had no hesitation in leaving 
cards upon her, and asking her, not to the dinner which 
Lord Ashenthorpe had suggested, but to this “ At Home,” 
which was supposed to be very select, only four or five hun- 
dred persons having been invited. 

Bertha and Julian had, of course, been forced apart 
shortly after reaching the drawing rooms ; and now he was 
in Mrs. Cyrus P. Bates’ group, and she was seated between 
a Royal Academician and her old friend the Parliamentary 
Nuisance. The government were in great hope that, by 
judicious treatment of the Nuisance, he might be made as 
intolerable to the enemies of the government as he now 
was to the members of the government themselves. A 
dead wall which, upon ordinary occasions, may seem but an 
irritating blot on the landscape, may, in time of war, serve 
as an invaluable protection to a skirmishing party. When 
an unpleasant question was put to the head of any depart- 


335 


33 ^ 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS I 


ment, the Nuisance was put up to ask of the same right 
honorable gentleman a counter-question tending to show 
that the opposition should be the last people in the world 
to ask the original question. In the five minutes bickering 
which followed between the Speaker, the Nuisance, and 
the inquiring opposition, the head of the department was 
usually able to escape returning a direct answer to the 
irritant. The Nuisance had thereby become a persona 
grata with the government, and received invitations to the 
ordinary departmental entertainments. He had thus almost 
come to think of himself as an actual member of the 
government. 

Julian watched Bertha talking to the Royal Academi- 
cian — he had a few pictures still unsold which he thought 
would serve admirably to indicate to an Australian colony 
the existing state of English art. (His estimate of their 
value was certainly a correct one, assuming that a period of 
decadence in English art has set in.) 

But while she was talking to the Royal Academician she 
was also listening while the Nuisance recounted to her his 
recent triumphs. He had actually been called to order 
four times in the course of the previous day, which was, of 
course, Tuesday. 

Julian watched her while he was giving his advice to Mrs. 
Cyrus P. Bates regarding the costume. Royalty, it was 
generally understood, was anxious that Mrs. Cyrus P. Bates 
should do credit to the greatest republic the world has 
ever known. Royalty was naturally interested in protect- 
ing the greatest republic from the possibility of a charge 
of incompleteness being leveled against it by anyone who 
might fancy that Mrs. Cyrus P. Bates was not a great social 
success, in the British drawing room as well as in the princi- 
pality of Monte Carlo. 

The fundamental principle of the forthcoming fancy ball 
was as graceful as it was original. The characters were not 


ON THE PLUNGE. 


337 


to represent such abstractions as Night — silver stars over 
black lace ; or Winter — plenty of swansdown and holly ; or 
Gretchen — a fair wig ; or Commercial Enterprise — a Salva- 
tion lass’s uniform ; or Pleasure — gauze wings ; or the 
Drama in England — short petticoats and a cigarette. These 
abstractions were not to find a place at the entertainment. 
The characters were to be got up on the principle of illus- 
trating lines of poetry. “ Believe me if all those endearing 
young charms ’’was the line that Mrs. Cyrus P. Bates hoped 
to illustrate. It was said that royalty had suggested her 
adopting it, discountenancing a line she had chosen from 
a bard of the greatest republic that the world had ever 
known — “ I want a chaw of terbaccer, and that’s what’s the 
matter with me.” What did Mr. Charlton think of the 
matter, she wondered. 

Mr. Charlton thought that a capital line for a young 
American widow would be “ Silent, upon a peak in 
Darien.” 

“ Upon how much ?” asked Mrs. Cyrus P. Bates. 

A peak in Darien,” said Julian. “ All you will have to 
do is to remain speechless for the entire evening.” 

“ You are the most impolite gentleman I have met since 
I came to Europe,” said Mrs. Cyrus P. Bates. “You know 
as well as I do that if I desiderated that character I’d burst 
my corsets trying to contain my speech. Besides, I don’t 
take piques — if I did I opine that I should leave you to 
freeze here ; and as for peaks in Nary Ann ” 

“ Darien,” suggested Julian. 

“ Oh, get along with you ! ” cried Mrs. Cyrus P. Bates, 
with a lunge in tierce of her fan. “ I don’t go to Habakkuk 
G. Hopkins’ saloons as anything that hints at silence. No. 
What’s the matter with ‘ Believe me if all those endearing 
young charms ' ? ” 

“ Nothing whatever,” said Julian. 

She was still sitting by the side of the Academician, he 


338 


••/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


could see. But was there not a certain anxious, expectant 
look in her face ? 

What did that look mean ? 

Was she counting the moments till someone should 
arrive ? 

The Green Scandinavian Band was heard in the distance. 
It was performing a selection from “ Lucrezia Borgia,” and 
had just reached the charming bolero, “ II segreto per esser 
felice.” 

He listened, and watched, and laughed. 

“ II segreto per esser felice.” 

Had he found it ? Was he any nearer the discovery than 
he had been six months ago ? Was the secret to be attained 
by watching the girl who had laid down for his sake all that 
woman holds dear? 

He knew in the depths of his heart that she was faithful 
to him ; but it is not into the depths of his own heart that a 
man looks when the madness of jealousy seizes hold upon 
him. It is not even into the depths of his own reason. If 
Othello had taken a pencil and a slate and had made a small 
calculation, he would have found out, if he possessed the 
rudiments of mathematics, that it was impossible that Des- 
demona could have been unfaithful to him. 

Julian Charlton could not apply the most ordinary reason- 
ing to his own case in regard to Bertha. That whisper was 
still in his ear : She is bound to you by no tie that may 

not be severed in a moment.” 

Several men approached her. Most of them were well 
known in the world. He could see that, all the time she 
was talking with them, the same unsatisfied look was on her 
face. Was she not watching and waiting for someone who 
had not yet come to her side ? 

After a few minutes he saw her moving out of the room 
with her hand on the arm of a distinguished peer who was 
the head of Lord Ashenthorpe’s department. 


ON THE PLUNGE. 


339 


His eyes followed her. How beautiful she looked ! 
There was no woman in the room who could compare with 
her. For a moment he felt proud of her ; but in another 
instant that cold doubt returned to him. He felt, when 
looking at her, as a man might feel who is in possession of 
a certain charming property, but who knows that he has no 
title-deeds, and that, consequently, he may be turned adrift 
at any moment. What is the noblest property in the world 
to anyone so long as the title-deeds are in the possession 
of someone else ? What was all the grace of that woman 
to him so long as he felt that she was bound to him by no 
tie that was recognized by the law ? 

That was precisely what his relationship with her 
amounted to. 

Then the Green Scandinavians passed from the “ Lucre- 
zia " selection to one from “ Rigoletto.” “II segreto per 
esser felice ” had dwindled into “ La donna e mobile.” 
The cynical phrases with the mocking laughter came to 
his ears. 

The assurance that “ la donna h mobile ” was not com- 
forting to him in his present mood. If woman was fickle 
how could he ever hope to retain Bertha, so long as there 
was no bond between them ? 

Then, like many other men suffering from a like malad}^ 
he gave a sort of “ it-will-all-be-the-samedn-a-hundred- 
years ” laugh, and plunged. 

It is on record that some men, in the absence of the 
title-deeds of the estates on which they were living, began, 
a steady course of drinking, with a view to avert their 
thoughts from the subject of those same title deeds. Others 
have been known to take to pigeon shooting at Hurling- 
ham. Several have commenced throwing away their money 
in the maddest way, while others have endeavored to accom- 
plish this purpose by means of backing horses to win certain 
races. The fruit of that counterfeit tree of knowledge 


340 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


which grows in the middle of Fool’s Paradise is among 
the least satisfying of the products of the vegetable 
kingdom. 

Perhaps, on the whole, the best way of diverting one’s 
thoughts from a catastrophe which one feels to be impend- 
ing is to plunge, as Julian Charlton did, into a crowd of 
men and women and cast all care and sense to the winds. 

He found himself once more in Mrs. Cyrus P. Bates’ 
group, and he laughed louder even than Mrs. Cyrus P. 
Bates at some jest of unspeakable silliness. He got to the 
side of a young woman who had obtained a reputation in 
society for being ill-treated by her husband, and who was, 
consequently, treated with such lavish kindness by other 
men — anxious, no doubt, to counterbalance the domestic 
brutality of which she was a victim — that it was surpris- 
ing the husband did not complete his villainy by bringing 
her into the divorce court. Julian Charlton plunged with 
her. He took her hand and looked into the center of those 
black ovals where her eyes were situated. Did she not 
yearn for sympathy, he asked her. She returned his pres- 
sure, and, after an eloquent pause, wondered where she 
could have an ice. 

Great Heavens ! is it come to that ? ” he cried. “ O 
Heavens ! that men should be such brutes ! ” 

She looked at him and sighed. 

“ I never complain,” she murmured. “ It is my lot. 
The sooner it’s over, the sooner to sleep. We must be 
resigned.” 

“ Poor child ! Poor child ! ” he murmured. “ You are 
all unmeet for a wife. You are not a woman: — you are a 
flower — in everything but the flower’s frailty.” 

“You are dangerous,” she whispered. 

“ I know it,” he answered. “ For God’s sake don’t look 
at me like that. You do not know what it is to have a 
strong man’s soul in your keeping.” 


ON THE PLUNGE. 


341 


“You are dangerous — terribly dangerous ! ” she whis- 
pered again. “ I should so much like an ice.” 

She put her hand on his arm and he led her down among 
the palms — there are more palms in London during the 
season than may be found in the densest of African forests 
— among the palms, and the faint lights, and the soft sounds 
of the Green Scandinavians, and provided her with the ice 
for which she was longing. He himself inquired for a 
brandy and soda. He seated himself beside her on the 
low divan, that seemed nothing but a confused mass of satin 
cushions, and talked to her in whispers. 

While he sat there a man passed by the nook apparently 
without noticing him, and went up the staircase. 

He knew the figure of Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh. 

Another man appeared, and glared through the palm 
leaves. He was a very young man and had the reputation 
for being the most comforting of all the ill-treated lady’s 
comforters. 

“Come in,” said Charlton ; “there’s lots of room for 
everybody here. I am only an understudy.” 

“ Come in, if you are a good boy,” said the ill-treated 
lady. “ I am not sure that you are a good boy. I don’t 
like that look of yours. It verges on the sulky.” 

“I've been looking for you,” said the youth. “You 
might have remained upstairs for a bit, I think.” 

“ Go away — go away,” said the lady. “ I won’t have any 
sulky boys near me.” 

“ The understudy gracefully yields to the principal,” 
said Julian, rising. 

“ What, you are going ? ” said the lady. “ I don’t think this 
is kind, just as you were getting interesting, too. I never 
found you an interesting person before, Mr. Charlton.” 

“ Alas,” said he. “ Alas ! If I do not go now, I may 
not be — never mind ! Flight sometimes shows more bravery 
than fight.” 


342 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS 


He played the part very well, and he was aware of this 
fact. He felt a sort of artistic exultation at that' moment. 
Clearly there were no better means of diverting unpleasant 
reflections than this. It was infinitely superior to brandy, 
that refuge of the inartistic. To be sure, he had had some 
brandy in some soda water, but not such a quantity as 
would make an appreciable difference to him. 


CHAPTER XLVII. 


ON THE MOMENT AFTER THE PLUNGE. 

A t the door of one of the drawing rooms he was met by 
L Marian Travers, as usual, with a new chaperon — a very 
decrepit one this time, with shoulder blades and the title of 
marchioness. She certainly seemed to possess more shoul- 
der blades than are allowed even to dowager duchesses. 

“ Who is that case of cutlery ? ” whispered Charlton, 
when he had pressed Marian’s hand with the utmost 
tenderness. 

“ Hush,” said she. “ Lady Lyonesse has got the quickest 
ears of any human being.” 

“ They are large,” said he. “ She is the barley crop of 
the peerage : all straw, beard, and ears.” 

The appearance of the dowager marchioness might, 
strictly speaking, have justified this description, for, un- 
doubtedly, no one acquainted with the proportion of the 
human frame would look for so noble a frontal bust on 
a woman whose shoulder blades were developed with such 
extraordinary emphasis ; and it could not be said that the 
lady’s chin was perfectly smooth ; but the accuracy of the 
description did not compensate for its suggestion of vulgar 
insolence. 

“ We must move away from here if you mean to talk 
in that strain,” said Marian, smiling. She perceived in 
a moment what was Julian Charlton’s mood. She had 
a faculty for perceiving the varying moods of men and of 
treating them accordingly. It was her discreet exercise of 
this faculty that had caused Cyril Southcote to ask her to 
be his wife. 


343 


344 


‘/ FORBID THE BANNS!" 


“ With all my heart,” he replied. “ I have found the 
most charming seat in the house — a nest among the palms 
on the first landing.” 

“ You are too absurd,” said she. “ Do you actually 
fancy that I ” 

“ I do,” he said. ‘‘ I know my own heart, and when 
a man knows his own heart he has gone a long way 
toward knowing the heart of the one who is nearest to 
him.” 

“ Nearest to him, did you say ? ” she asked in a low 
tone. 

“You did not fancy that nearest was the word that 
I said ? ” he murmured. “ And yet — well, I dare say you 
are discreet ; better assume that I said nearest, not ” 

“ Hush,” she whispered with her lips and her fan. “ Let 
us sit here where we can watch the crowd.” 

“ What are they to us ? ” said he. 

“ Nothing whatever — more than wives and fiancees^ and 
controllers of income tax, and the controllers of the con- 
trollers of the income tax — ministers of grace and ministers 
of annexation.” 

“Who are just the opposite, you would seem to 
suggest.” 

“ By no means ; only it is remarkable how one’s pro- 
fessional instincts are sometimes carried into one’s social 
life. The Minister of Annexation.” 

“ Where is that person just now ? ” asked Julian. 

“Sir Ecroyd, do you mean?” asked Marian. “Why, 
where should he be unless by the side of the most beautiful 
woman in London ? Mrs. Charlton is to be congratulated 
upon her conquest. He came into the room just now and 
crushed his way up to her at once. And everyone looks on 
him as a confirmed woman-hater. Of course she is only 
amusing herself with him.” 

“ Where are they now ? ” asked Julian. 


ON THE MOMENT AFTER THE PLUNGE, 345 

Goodness knows ; they must have gone off by another 
door. You are quite right, this place is stifling.” 

She rose and hastened to the door. 

He laughed, but the impression which his laugh con- 
veyed was exactly the same as that produced by a 
sob. % 

“ There is nothing stifling in my palm nook,” said he. 
“ Put your hand on my arm. What, can you not trust 
me.^” he whispered, with a reproachful glance. He flat- 
tered himself that he was becoming more of an artistic 
success every moment. 

“Trust you ? ” said she. “ Alas, it is not you whom I can- 
not trust.” 

“ I am glad of that,” he murmured. “ You are right. 
Oh, those days which we had together on the Flats, with 
Table Mountain in the distance ! ” 

They had descended. A glance assured him that, as he 
had anticipated, the ill-treated lady and her comforting 
youth had disappeared from the seat among the palms. 
There were much more secluded nooks upstairs where the 
guests rarely ventured. The ill-treated lady was, however, 
adventurous. 

“ Could anything be more grateful or gracious ? ” said 
Julian, as Marian sank into the embrace of the great satin 
cushions, catching a glimpse at the same instant of the 
point of a fan projecting beyond the gilt edge of a Louis 
Seize screen a few yards behind where Julian was standing. 
Above the screen, toward a Seaforth palm and beneath its 
fronds, there was, she knew, a seat. She had often seen 
and coveted that fan. Even now, catching a glimpse of the 
top of it, her thought was : 

“ It might have been mine if the steamer had not called 
at St. Helena.” 

“ Is the nook less entrancing than I painted it?” asked 
Julian. 


346 


“/ FORBID THE BA HNS/’* 

“ It is Paradise,” she murmured. 

“ It is— it is,” he said, seating himself slowly by her side. 
It was not a particularly capacious divan. “ Paradise,” 
he continued. “ Paradise. Yes — down to the forbidden 
fruit.” 

A ripple of laughter as low as that which ma^es the peb- 
bles whisper “ hush ” by the moonlight on the strand the 
ripples love to kiss. 

“ And the tempter,” she murmured. 

Not I — not I,” he said. “ I am the tempted.” 

“Not you, Mr. Charlton,” she cried, with another ripple 
of laughter. 

“ Heaven knows,” he murmured. “ What were our words 
together before we parted last night ? ” 

“ Heaven knows ; I have forgotten.* 

“ I have not.” 

“ Better forget ; I have made up my mind to forget them. 
If I had not I should not have allowed you to speak to me 
as a friend to-night.” * 

“ But you have allowed me.” 

“ But that subject is banned.** 

“ Why should it be banned ? ** 

“ Oh, you make me lose all patience with you,** she said 
in a louder tone. “The most beautiful woman in England 
— so a man remarked as your wife entered — the most beau- 
tiful woman in England is your wife.” 

“ No,” he replied in the same tone ; “ I have no wife.** 
“ Mr. Charlton ! ” 

“ I tell you what is the truth : I have no wife.** 

“ You mean to tell me that you are a free man ? ** 

“ I am a free man.*' 

“ I could not have believed it. I remembered how Mrs. 
— how — well, you cannot forget how everyone aboard the 
steamer believed that she was the daughter of a convict. I 
thought that she had only aimed at making a fool of 


ON THE MOMENT AFTER THE PLUNGE. 347 

Lady Rushton. I took it for granted that you were 
married.” 

“Then you took too much for granted ; we were never 
married.” 

“ And yet everyone visited her.” 

“ That is everyone’s own lookout. Oh, I cannot talk 
over this miserable business.” 

He had risen to his feet. 

She rose with some reluctance. What was the good of 
his making this confession if he meant to go away, she 
wondered. 

“ It is a miserable business,” she remarked as she put 
her hand on his arm. “ You have my sympathy — all the 
sympathy of my heart.” 

“ Thank you, thank you,” said he as he led her up the 
staircase. His mood had changed in a moment. The 
force of making that confession — of saying those words, 
“ she is not my wife,” had altered his mood in a moment. 
He had no further desire to plunge. The conditions of the 
pastime in which he had been indulging were changed. It 
was becoming dangerous. 

There was protection in the neighborhood of the shoulder 
blades of the marchioness. He saw them gleaming like 
crossed sabers in a trophy of arms. 

“ You have my sympathy,” she murmured. “ Do you not 
believe me ? Oh, here is that tiresome Cyril. You will not 
leave me with him ? ” 

“ I have no choice,” said he. 

“ You are a weak man,” said she, somewhat scornfully. 
“ You were weak once before, and misery was the result ; 
you are weak again, and must I have thought for both 
of us?” 

He did not answer. The mood of acting had passed 
from him. She had made him an artistic failure because 
she had insisted on taking him seriously. What chance has 


348 


•'/ FORBID THE BANNS !^* 


the comedian if you stop him every now and again to insist 
on his explaining his jokes ? 

Julian considered himself lucky when Lord Ashenthorpe 
took him by the arm and led him away to intrust him, as 
an old friend, with the sacred duty of entertaining the wife 
of the chief of his department. 

“ I am in luck,” said Cyril to Marian. “ Sir Ecroyd 
Fairleigh met me on the stairs just now — he was coming up 
with Charlton’s wife — and in ten words offered me a capital 
post in the administration of the newly acquired Calipash 
Islands. I told him our relations, and he shook his head. 

‘ Try the Calipash Islands for a year at any rate before you 
think of marriage,’ said he. That was all. What shall I 
say to him ? ” 

“ I give you Sir Ecroyd’s advice,” she replied. ‘‘Try the 
Calipashes for a year, and let it be understood in the mean- 
time that we are not fettered by any engagement.” 

“ Oh, no, not that,” said he. 

“ But I insist on it,” she cried. “ I begin to think that 
you are a poor thing.” 

“ And I am only beginning to think that you are the^ 
most generous woman in the world,” said he. “ To tell you 
the truth, I got a letter to-day from my father. It is very 
rough and contains some passages regarding the aspects of 
marriage aS' associated with starvation, which are too indeli- 
cate even for a father who is noted for his indelicacy.” 

“ Had you not better go to Sir Ecroyd and tell him that 
you accept the post ?” said Marian. 

“ I have already accepted it,” said he. “ I knew that I 
could rely on your good sense.” 

“ Did you ? ” said she with more than a touch of scorn, 
for no girl likes to be accused of good sense. “ Did you ? 
Then that only makes me the more certain that there should 
be no engagement between us. I dare say you have to thank 
Mrs. Charlton for having pleaded for you, so you would be 


ON THE MOMENT AFTER THE PLUNGE. 349 

acting wisely to tell Mr. Charlton that you mean to thank 
his wife, whose influence over Sir Ecroyd is so marked. 
You might also add what I have said about our engage- 
ment.” 

“ It will require tact,” said Cyril ; “ but I flatter myself 
that I am not only equal to the task of administering the 
government of the Calipash Archipelago, but also to the 
task of making the needful explanation of gratitude to 
Charlton.” 

He went off with a light heart in search of Charlton ; but 
his capacity was not equal to the task of approaching him ; 
for when Charlton had entertained, so far as was in his 
power to entertain, and so far as it was in her power to 
receive entertainment, the wife of Lord Ashenthorpe’s 
chief, he put on his hat and his overcoat and took a walk 
as far as Hampstead. As Hampstead is some miles from 
Grosvenor Gardens, it was almost six o’clock in the morn- 
ing before he got to his own house. He had been walking 
hard for five hours, but he had not succeeded in getting 
rid of that feeling of self-abasement which had possessed 
him the moment he had said those words, “ She is not my 
wife,” to Marian Travers. 

It was on the heights of Hampstead that the truth came 
to him. He knew how much he loved Bertha. He knew 
that he had behaved basely to her — that he had made her 
life wretched. False to him ! Was he a fool that, believ- 
ing she could be false to him, he should leave her alone 
and walk northward miles away from her ? He knew now 
that his jealousy was madness. And yet this madness had 
had such an effect upon him that he had said those words 
— those false words, to a girl whom he almost despised — 
“ She is not my wife.” 

He would go to Bertha in the morning and confess all, 
and ask her forgiveness, and then 

What then ? 


350 


*‘/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


Was he certain that he should never again hear those 
words whispered in his ear, “ She is bound to you by no 
tie ” ? 

He had almost reached his own house before he had 
resolved that he would implore of her to marry him as the 
people around them married. If she refused his entreaty 
he felt that he was strong enough to leave her. 

It would be better for him to leave her forever than to 
continue making her life wretched. 

When he opened his door with his latchkey he went 
upstairs and into one of the bedrooms. Hastily taking off 
some of his clothes, he threw himself, thoroughly exhausted 
in body and spirit, on the bed and slept soundly for some 
hours. . 

Awaking, he found that it was almost noon. He has- 
tened to his bath-room and thence to his dressing room. 
He started, seeing his haggard face in a glass. 

His man brought him a letter, and then inquired what 
clothes he meant to wear — did he mean to ride before 
luncheon, or was he going to drive. 

The letter was in Bertha’s handwriting ; it contained 
only a few words. 

“ / overheard what you said. You are right. You are 
freer 

“ When did Mrs. Charlton go out ? ” he asked the man. 

Very early, sir. Having to catch the 8.35 she had to 
leave here at eight.” 

“ I wonder did she go by Paddington,” said he. 

“ No, sir, by Waterloo ; I heard her direct the hansom 
driver.” 

That is a quarter of an hour longer,” said Julian. 
“ Better tell them downstairs that I shall lunch alone in 
half an hour.” 

“ Yes, sir. And you will wear the light grays, sir ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, of course.” 


ON THE MOMENT AFTER THE PLUNGE. 35 1 


The man left the dressing room, his mind satisfied as to 
the exact tint of the trousers his master meant to wear.' 

The next moment his master had fallen into a chair, 
staring with wild eyes at that paper which he held in his 
hand. 

“ Too late — too late,” were the words that his lips sought 
to frame. 

All his thoughts found expression in those words. His 
repentance had come too late. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 


ON THE BEGINNING OF A QUEST. 

H e went to the room that she had occupied. The maids 
had not invaded it. The impression that that white 
body had made in the bed was still visible. The pillow bore 
the impression of her fair head. He put his face down to it. 
The instant he did so he shuddered. There was a cold 
dampness on the pillow that caused him to feel as if he had 
touched the face of one who was just dead. 

He knew that the pillow had been wet with her tears. He 
looked around the room to find, if it were possible, some 
clew to her flight. In what direction had she gone ? She 
had ordered the hansom to drive to Waterloo Terminus. 
Had she taken the train at Waterloo? If so, what station 
had her ticket been for ? At whose suggestion did she go 
to that station, whatever it was ? 

No letter, no paper, no clew did he find. 

He went downstairs to his solitary lunch, glancing cas- 
ually at the newspaper as the dishes were being brought in. 
He flattered himself that none of the servants could notice 
any change in his demeanor. If the servants fancied that 
their mistress had fled from the house no earthly power 
could avert the scandal that would follow. It was his hope 
to find Bertha, to throw himself at her feet, and to persuade 
her to return with him. 

After his walk to Hampstead he had, he remembered, 
made up his mind that if she refused to go through the 
ceremony of marriage with him he would leave her. She 
had taken the first step, however, and had left him alone. 
When he had risen from the table all the burden of his 


352 


ON THE BEGINNING OF A QUEST. 


353 


loneliness came upon him. If she would only come back 
to him he would not insist on any conditions. She must 
come back — she must ! Even though he had sinned against 
her, she was a woman and she would forgive him. He was 
unworthy of her — he was a brute ever to have — no, not 
suspected her, only fancied that he had suspected her. 

He had been mad — mad — mad as no man had ever been 
before. That jealousy had been madness — it had possessed 
.him all those days, making him incapable of reasoning. 
She had given up her pure life to him, and yet he had been 
jealous when other men had been near her. That was a 
monstrous thing, he felt. Let him but get her back, and he 
would compass her with his love so that her life would be 
one long dream of happiness. 

That is what some men think when their wives are dead. 
They usually marry again at the end of the year ; but their 
new dream of happiness is not more enduring than the 
honeymoon. 

With all Julian Charlton’s reflections, he never enter- 
tertained the idea of the possibility of blame being 
attached to himself for having failed to protect Bertha from 
her own theories of life and of the union of a man and a 
woman. It n^ver occurred to him that he was deserving of 
reproach for having made up his mind to possess her, 
although feeling in his heart that her theories — she called 
them principles — were founded upon a perfect knowledge 
of what man and woman should be^ not of what man and 
woman are. He had come to perceive in the course of his 
life in the midst of various communities that, while many 
persons took a great pleasure in promulgating theories 
respecting the world to come, no large proportion of such 
persons considered themselves called on to make their own 
lives illustrative of the value of their theories. 

And yet, for the sake of possessing that girl, he had 
actually pretended to her that he believed that her theories 


354 “/ FORBID THE BANNS!'' 

would constitute a sound practical rule of life. It was not, 
however, upon this point that he reflected now that he 
found himself alone. All his thoughts were turned to the 
question of how to bring her back to him. 

In what direction was he to look for her ? 

If he suspected her of the least measure of unfaithful- 
ness to him even in thought, he would certainly have at 
least considered the possibility of her being near the man 
who had aroused his jealousy. But now it seemed that he 
was in his right mind — that the madness of jealousy had 
left him, for he never entertained the notion that she might 
have been controlled in her action by Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh. 

In what direction was he to look for her ? 

After some thought he came to the conclusion that the 
fact of her having given the driver of the hansom directions 
to go to Waterloo meant nothing. She would probably 
have given the man another direction when he had taken 
her some distance away. Then the thought flashed across 
him : “ Why might she not have returned to her aunt in 
Chelsea ? ” 

He started up from where he had been sitting and seized 
his hat. He could hardly doubt that she had gone to Chel- 
sea. She would naturally seek to return to her former life, 
he felt. That would be the simplest step that she could 
take. He had heard long ago of young women threatening 
to return to their mothers at the first inconsiderate word 
that was uttered by their husbands. They rarely went 
back to their mothers ; it was, unfortunately, their mothers 
who usually came to them, he knew, with a view of relieving 
the strained relations between the husband and the wife. 
There were on record, he believed, cases in which the inter- 
position of the wife’s mother failed to make the household 
life a perpetual harmony. However this might be, he felt 
that it was almost certain that Bertha had returned to the 
side of Mrs. Hardy. He had no desire for another inter- 


ON THE BEGINNING OF A QUEST. 


355 


view with Mr. Hardy. It was humiliating enough for him 
to feel that the prediction of this commonplace prophet had 
been amply realized, without the need for the extreme deg- 
radation of coming into the presence of the prophet with 
the confession that the prediction had been realized. 

What did it matter how he was humiliated — how he was 
degraded, if only he succeeded in inducing Bertha to return 
to him? 

He got into a hansom, and all the time that he was driv- 
ing through the park and down Sloane Street he was think- 
ing what he should say to her to induce her to return to 
him. 

He did not arrive at a conclusion that could possibly be 
regarded as satisfactory. What words could he say to her 
that should make her forget the words which she had over- 
heard when he had been by the side of Marian Travers ? 

The hansom pulled up at the house he had once known 
so well. The brass plate bearing the name of Mr. Hardy, 
and stating his connection with the Carnisolist Society, was 
extremely bright. From this fact he judged that the Hardys 
had just obtained a new maid servant. 

He judged aright. After a preliminary scrutiny of him 
through two leveled laths of the Venetian blind at one of 
the windows, a strange servant opened the door. To ask 
a stranger if Mrs. Charlton was in the house would be to 
evoke a gaze of bewilderment that might make further 
inquiry difficult. He asked for Mrs. Hardy. 

Mrs. Hardy was not in the house, and the servant 
declined to pledge her word as to the exact hour when she 
would return. Yes, Mr. Hardy was within. 

He was. Before Julian had concluded his inquiries the 
secretary of the carnisolists appeared at the door of the room 
to the left. He was in his shirt sleeves and held a pen. 

“ What, Mr. Charlton ? ” he cried. “ Pray come in, sir. 
What a summer we’re having. The heat is abnormal — not 


356 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


good for us, Mr. Charlton — not good for the carnisolists. 
Our membership increases materially in the winter. People 
don’t mind binding themselves down to eat nothing but 
meat in the winter; but strawberries and new peas are 
great temptations. The flesh is weak at such times, Mr. 
Charlton, in every sense.” 

“ Has my wife been here this morning, Mr. Hardy ? ” 
asked Julian, boldly coming to the point. 

“ Your — wife ? ” said Mr. Hardy slowly, pausing before 
saying the words, and making a considerable pause between 
them. 

My wife — Berths — your wife’s niece — is she here now? 
If she is, I must speak with her alone.” 

My wife’s niece is not here, Mr. Charlton — she paid us 
a visit in your carriage three weeks ago. She told us how 
she has been living. She has not been here since.” 

“ You are quite sure ? ” 

“ Personally I have no doubt in the matter. She came 
three weeks ago to have an interview with Eric Vicars.” 

“With whom?” 

“ Vicars, her father’s late overseer on one of the runs. 
A respectable young fellow. He has a large heart, Mr. 
Charlton, and has been occasionally sober latterly. He 
and Bertha were always good friends.” 

“ Curse him ! ” cried Charlton. “ Curse him ! If I had 
not seen the way he looked at her and held her hand when 
you brought him aboard the steamer the day we landed, I 
should never have given in to her. I should have brought 
her to see how unpractical her theories were, and we should 
now be happy.” 

“ You have now come to see that you behaved like a 
scoundrel,” remarked Mr. Hardy, as placidly as though he 
were making an ordinary statement. 

“I do not want to discuss the matter with you, Mr. 
Hardy,” said Julian. “ Heaven knows that I am ready to 


ON THE BEGINNING OF A QUEST. 357 

admit that I have been a scoundrel — anything — if it will 
only bring her back ! ” 

“ Then she has left you ? ” said Mr. Hardy quietly. 

“And she has not come here?” said Julian. 

“You may rest assured of that, Mr. Charlton. I cannot 
say that I am surprised to learn that you have separated. 
Separation was inevitable. You may perhaps remember 
that I said as much to you under your own roof. I need 
not inquire from you how the separation has come about. 
I know it. The T urks are supposed to be unusually jealous 
of their wives. They are wise ; they shut them up in their 
own apartments, and thereby they always feel that their 
wives are bound to them by even a stronger tie than that 
of a legal marriage. The husbands have thus few oppor- 
tunities of being jealous. We English do not believe in the 
stone walk and iron bar union ; but we manage to minimize 
the possibilities of jealousy by making the marriage cere- 
mony a religious one, and causing the vows of fidelity to 
be uttered before God. This is the more civilized way. 
The fact that the bond of marriage is usually regarded as a 
sacred one causes us — most of us, at any rate — to feel that 
our wives are bound to us by a tie that cannot be broken 
with impunity. There was no such tie in your union with 
my wife’s niece, Mr. Charlton. You had not a day’s easi- 
ness of mind with her.” 

“ All this may be quite true, Mr. Hardy,” said Charlton. 
“ I tell you I did not come here to discuss the marriage 
question with you or anyone else, but to find my — to find 
her — and to persuade her to return with me. She must 
return with me ; I cannot live without her.” 

He was walking up and down the room — the promenade 
was not an extensive one — and now he stood before Mr. 
Hardy with clenched hands. 

“ It is sometimes the case that when a man has lived 
for some months with a woman — some years even (but 


358 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


these cases are not many) — he asks her to marry him,” 
said Mr. Hardy. “ The kitchen has usually got a good 
deal to say in the way of influencing a man in this direc- 
tion. The woman has got to know what he likes to eat, 
and he will do anything — he will even marry her — sooner 
than be placed at the mercy of a stranger, who may insist 
on giving him underdone mutton, which he knows will make 
him see through the watches of the night such visions as 
would, if transferred to paper, serve as the best illustrations 
that could be devised for a guidebook to the Infernal 
Regions. But so far as you and Bertha are concerned ” 

“ I see that in looking to you for practical advice I was 
a fool,” said Julian. “You talk in that strain, while you 
sCe that I am at the point of madness. For God’s sake 
tell me what I am to do to find her and to bring her back.” 

“ I do not know where she is, Mr. Charlton, so I cannot 
suggest to you in what direction you should look for her. 
As for bringing her back — well, I should advise you to 
wait.” 

“ Wait — for what ?” cried Charlton. 

“ Until she comes back of her own accord. I believe 
she will do it, because I believe that she loves you, but 
more because you are the father of a possible child of 
hers.” 

“ A possible child, Mr. Hardy ? ” said Julian, bewildered. 

“ I said possible. If there is more than a possibility in 
the matter, you may depend upon it that she will return to 
you. You said that you are anxious that she should be 
married to you when she returns ? ” 

“ If I can only persuade her.” 

“ Your powers of persuasion may be great, but they are 
as nothing compared with the powers possessed by It” 
remarked Mr. Hardy. “ IT will command her to return 
and to marry you.” 

Julian Charlton dropped into a chair. 


ON THE BEGINNING OF A QUEST. 359 

I never thought of that, I never thought of that,” he 
muttered. “ My beloved — my beloved — away from me ! 
Oh, Mr. Hardy, I must find her — I must find her ! I con- 
fess that I was mistaken in you from the first. I did not 
think that you could understand us as you show you have 
understood us.” 

“ I am not such a fool as that brass plate on the gate 
outside would suggest,” said Mr. Hardy. “ My wife has a 
thousand a year of her own, and if I prefer observing a 
peculiar class of men from the low standpoint suggested by 
that brass plate, that is my own business. Some people 
fancy that democracy is to become the most powerful ele- 
ment in society. They are wrong. The faddist is bound 
to become surpreme. Good-day to you, Mr. Charlton. 
There is a good deal of humor to be got out of observing 
men and women, particularly those men and women who 
fancy they are taking part in a tragedy, when all the time 
they are acting a comedy. You suppose that you are the 
hero of a tragedy, I dare say — ah, good-day to you.” 

Julian Charlton was standing outside the gate with the 
brass plate before he succeeded in comprehending the 
general drift of Mr. Hardy’s words. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 


ON THE EMBANKMENT. 

H e strolled on in an aimless way until he found himself 
on the Embankment, idly gazing at the progress down 
stream made by a barge with brown sails, rigged in accord- 
ance with no recognized system. 

This was how he spent an hour of the precious time 
which he meant to devote to the search for his beloved 
Bertha. 

The fact was that the words which Mr. Hardy had just 
spoken to him had bewildered him. He could not remem- 
ber all the words, but he knew that the general impression 
which they conveyed was not that they were uttered by an 
old fool. He had at one time looked on Mr. Hardy as 
something approaching an old fool, but not altogether an 
old fool ; there was, he had felt, a certain reservation in 
his idiocy, but this was wholly filled up by knavery. 

He now felt that it was necessary for him seriously to 
revise his opinion regarding Mr. Hardy. He had been a 
true, and not a false, prophet, Julian could not but acknowl- 
edge ; and if some of his more recent utterances had not 
been quite so intelligible as might be wished, it could not 
be said that in this respect they differed so widely from the 
utterances of the majority of prophets that the world has 
known. Obscurity was inseparable from the style in which 
the professional seer delivered himself. He was, however, 
occasionally permitted to live to a ripe old age. 

But on one point the prophet Hardy had not been 
obscure, and this point {lad the most important bearing 
upon the matter under consideration. (In this respect he 

360 


dN THE EMBANKMENT. 


361 


differed widely from the professional seer, who has, unfor- 
tunately, always been found deficient in clearness on the 
most important points.) Mr. Hardy had expressed the 
opinion that Bertha would certainly return to Julian. 

But when Julian recalled the exact words of Mr. Hardy 
on this point — when he recalled what Mr. Hardy had 
advanced as the possible motive for her return, he got into 
a train of thought that caused his eyes to fill with tears 
and made him yearn to clasp his beloved one once more. 

The possibility to which Mr. Hardy had alluded in the 
neuter gender, now appeared to Julian to be entitled to a 
greater distinction than could be embodied in the sexless' 
pronoun. 

Physiology as an applied science does not leave much 
margin for speculation ; but such as there was in the possi- 
bility alluded to by Mr. Hardy was traversed by Julian 
Charlton, as he strolled along the Embankment on this 
lovely July day. 

The more he thought about this possibility, the greater 
became his passion to take Bertha once again into his 
arms. “Wait — wait,” Mr. Hardy had said. That advice 
was all very good to come from Mr. Hardy; but Julian 
felt that he would never be able to follow it. He could 
not wait for weeks and months — he did not know much 
about physiology or embryology, but he knew he might 
say months — he could not even wait for days. He must 
find her and bring her back at once. 

But how — how — how ? 

That was his cry as he quickened his pace. For more 
than half an hour that one word “ How ?” kept ringing in 
his ears, until before him stood the towers of Westminster. 

An irresistible impulse seized upon him when he looked 
up to the clock tower. He went through the gates. A 
member with whom he was acquainted had just come from 
the lobby. 


362 FORBID THE BANNS!'* 

“ Hallo, Charlton, what on earth can bring you to this 
grimy place, when you might be on horseback in the park ? 
Good Lord, man, are you a fool to take an interest in the 
rabble that are babbling and bickering inside that den ? ” 

“ I have come to see Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh,” said Julian. 
“ I suppose he is in the House?” 

“ He is either in his own room or in the library,” said the 
member. “ I’ll find him for you. The arrangements here 
are so miserable that if you want to send a message — if 
only to a pressman in the gallery — you must trust it to a 
policeman, who trusts it to a telegraph boy ; now and again 
I understand that a message has reached its destination 
after an hour or two. You have not made an appointment 
with the annexator-general ? ” 

“ No ; but I think he will see me, if you are good enough 
to tell him that I am anxious for an interview.” 

“ All right ; come along with me. I feel when anyone 
respectable comes here — it’s not often — like the acting 
manager of a theater when a bad piece is being played and 
some innocent acquaintance begs the favor of an order for 
the upper circle. We play damn bad pieces at this show of 
ours, and the privilege of giving orders to the performance 
is an empty one.” 

The light-hearted legislator left Julian in the outer lobby, 
and went off into the privileged regions beyond. He 
returned in a few minutes with the Minister of Annexation, 
and then hurried off to elude the Whip, whom he saw med- 
itating a series of inquiries. 

“ I hope you will pardon my coming to you on a private 
matter. Sir Ecroyd,” said Julian. “ I knew that I should 
have no chance of seeing you at Piccadilly.” 

“ I am very pleased, Mr. Charlton,” said the minister. 
“ Will you come to the room I have succeeded in annexing 
for myself ? It cost me more trouble than the acquisition 
of the entire Calipash Archipelago.” 


ON THE EMBANKMENT, 


363 


Julian followed him to the room. 'It held an aroma of 
tobacco. It was 'liberally furnished with blue-books ; but 
the visitor did not fail to notice that the latest of Paul 
Bourget’s novels lay, face downwards, across the arm of an 
armchair at a window. 

“You are not such a fool as to go in for politics, Mr. 
Charlton?” said Sir Ecroyd, sweeping a pile of blue-books 
off. a chair which he placed at the disposal of his visitor. 

“ No,” said Julian mechanically, “no.” 

He was beginning to wonder why he had come here. 

So was Sir Ecroyd. 

“You are right, indeed,” resumed the minister. “The 
time is fast approaching when it will be the same in Eng- 
land as it is in America — politics will be exclusively in the 
hands of the rabble.” 

“Sir Ecroyd,” said Julian suddenly, “I have come to 
talk to you about my wife.” 

Sir Ecroyd’s expression did not change to the extent of 
a hair’s breadth. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said he ; “your ” 

“My wife,” repeated Julian boldly. 

“ I did not know that you were a married man,” said the 
minister. 

“ You know what my relations were with the lady who is 
accepted in the world as Mrs. Charlton,” said Julian. “I 
have always regarded her as my wife. She told me that you 
understood our relations and sympathized with her views.” 

“ So I did — so I do.” 

“ We need not discuss the question now. I mean to be 
frank with you, Sir Ecroyd. She has left me ; you were 
the last person with whom she spoke ; I come to ask you 
if she said anything that would lead you to believe that she 
contemplated this step — if she said anything that would 
suggest to you where she meant to go. I must find her — I 
must find her, and bring her back to her home,” 


3^4 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


“ The lady to whom I believe you allude,” replied the 
minister in his measured parliamentary manner, “said not 
one word to me that would suggest that she meant to leave 
the house in which, I understand, she was living. I need 
not, however, conceal from you the fact that I perceived 
some time ago that she would leave that house.” 

“ How did you perceive that, may I ask ” said Julian. 

“ How does a man perceive that, when the roots of a tree 
are rotten, that tree is bound to fall, Mr. Charlton ? How 
does a man perceive that, when the foundation of a house 
is sand, that house will tumble about one’s ears ? ” 

“ Where is the analogy ? ” 

I think it is apparent. There are so few instances on 
record in this country of a man and a woman living 
together happily for any length of time without having 
marriage as the foundation of their union, it is safe to 
assume, as I did, that such a m^?tage cannot be a permanent 
one.” 

“ And I have no doubt that you were as frank with my — 
with her, as you are with me.” 

“ I never discussed the subject with her. If I had done 
so I should certainly have been frank with her.” 

“ She told me that you had sympathized with her.” 

“ She told you the truth. I sympathized with her, I do 
so still. I sympathize with any woman whose weakness has 
been taken advantage of by a man, as her weakness was 
by you.” 

“ You believe me to have been a scoundrel ? ” 

“ Most unquestionably I do.” 

“ Great God ! You love her — you love her — you have 
loved her all along — my instincts were not at fault.” 

“ If your instincts led you to believe that I felt the deep- 
est affection for that girl who has been your victim they 
led you in a right direction. I have had that feeling for 
her. I have it still. I looked forward to the time when 


ON THE EMBANKMENT. 365 

she would leave you, and thereby enable me to ask her to 
be my wife.” 

“Scoundrel ! "cried Julian, “you are the scoundrel — not 
I ! I can understand now how it is that men like you are 
sometimes found dead with a knife in their heart. You 
have taken her from me — you it was who urged her to leave 
me ! But I shall find her and she shall return to me in 
spite of you ; or if I fail to find her, I shall find you — 
you ! ” 

Not a muscle did Sir Ecroyd move while he was being 
treated as the villain in a melodrama is treated by the 
virtuous and suffering hero under a passing cloud. Chari- 
ton might as well have made his impassioned gesture in 
the face of a statue of Tiresias of Thebes. 

“I can understand how you feel, Mr. Charlton,” said the 
minister in precisely the tone that he would have employed 
in explaining the position occupied by the government in 
respect of a South Pacific protectorate. “You naturally 
feel piqued at having lost the influence which you once 
possessed over the lady to whom you refer. I can under- 
stand the feeling of a man in the position which you are 
unfortunate enough to occupy.” 

“ And I understand how much of that misfortune is due 
to your villainy,” said Julian, turning upon Sir Ecroyd, 
when he had lifted his hat from the table where he had laid 
it. “ I suspected you from the first moment I saw you. 
Now I know how well founded my suspicions were.” 

“Your suspicions were certainly correct, Mr. Charlton ; 
but I blush to say that I refrained from making any attempt 
to induce the lady of whom we have been speaking to leave 
you. My conscience has reproached me for not endeavor- 
ing to precipitate an occurrence that I knew was inevitable.” 

“ Your conscience ! ” 

“ Yes. I must confess that the night before last my 
conscience smote me when I found that poor young thing 


366 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/" 


at the point of death because some ruffian had offered her 
a sum of money to be his mistress instead of yours.” 

“ No man did that,” said Julian slowly. He had 
scarcely strength to speak. The words that he heard over- 
whelmed him. He could not at once understand their 
import. 

“ It is a terrible thing for a man to do — to place any 
woman in such a position as makes it possible for an insult 
like that to be offered to her.” 

“ It never was offered to her — that insult,” said Julian 
resolutely. It is part of your trickery. I know it, now 
that I know you.” 

“ Accept it as so if you wish ; I do not urge anything on 
you. I have all along believed you to be quite unworthy 
of the love which she once bore for you. The fact that 
you were unable to perceive, when you found her at your 
house on your return the night before last, that something 
terrible had happened to her, proves with great clearness 
that you appreciate nothing of the beautiful nature with 
which you have been associated for some months.” 

“ And you knew that that insult was offered to her, and 
yet, though professing to be her friend — nay, to have 
loved her — you allowed the wretch that insulted her to 
escape.” 

“ He did not escape — not quite. It was left for a lad to 
administer the chastisement, and for you, who called your- 
self her husband, to occupy the humiliating position of 
a looker-on.” 

“ What — do you mean ? — oh, why do I remain here to 
suffer worse agonies that those of death ? ” muttered Julian 
passionately as he paced the room. “ Sir Ecroyd Fair- 
leigh, whether you believe me or not, I swear to you that 
I never had the least hint of what occurred to bring about 
that scene in the greenhouse. If I had known ” 

‘‘ You could have done nothing, Mr. Charlton. That is 


ON THE EMBANKMENT. 


367 


the pity of it. That is the pity of the situation. It is not 
the man’s name that is dragged in the mire under such cir- 
cumstances — it is the woman’s. That lad who went about 
the grounds for an hour searching for the miscreant whom 
he meant to punish took the right view of the matter. He 
took care that the mire should cling to the right person — 
and it did. I do not suppose that you have anything more 
to say to me to-day, Mr. Charlton.” 

'“Only this,” said Julian. “ You do not understand any- 
thing of the nature of — of — my wife, if you fancy for a 
moment that she does not consider herself bound to me 
by a bond that is far more indissoluble than the bond of 
marriage. With God’s help I shall find her and bring her 
back to me. I will give up my life to the task of finding 
her.” 

“ And if you succeed in persuading her to go back to 
you,” said the minister, “ I will admit that I have failed to 
appreciate her nature.” 


CHAPTER L. 


ON PARLIAMENT AND THE PADDED ROOM. 

J ULIAN CHARLTON went out of the room without 
another word. 

When the minister found himself alone he went slowly 
to the armchair at the window, and, having seated himself, 
sent his eyes wandering over the river beneath the ter- 
race. The river at this place is like the interior of the 
House of Commons — it contains nothing that has a tend- 
ency to divert thought from any particular subject upon 
which thought may be directed. If the interior contained 
anything that might cause thought to be less concentrated 
upon a subject than it is at present, the Sarey Gamp and 
Betsy Prig form of debate, which is the model of the rep- 
resentatives of the people at their best just now, would 
become the Caesar and Pompey style of a Carolina cot- 
ton field. This would be a degeneration — yes, to some 
extent. 

Sir Ecroyd watched the shining river — it shines where 
the tar buckets have been washed — and his thoughts took 
a certain course. 

It had happened — the event which he had laid his plans 
to bring about had happened. He meant that the man who 
had just left the room, and the woman of whom he had 
been talking, should be separated, and the separation had 
occurred. 

He knew perfectly well how it had occurred. He was as 
certain of the accuracy of his belief on this point as he was 

368 


ON PARLIAMENT AND THE PADDED ROOM. 369 

in regard to the nature of the insult that Mr. Betstein had 
offered to Bertha, though he had had no special information 
on either subject. 

What he knew specifically was that he had been on a 
seat near the screen under the Seaforth palm in Lady Ash- 
enthorpe’s house on the previous night when Julian Charl- 
ton had brought the ill-treated wife to the divan in the 
picturesque nook ; that he had then gone in search of 
Bertha to bring her to the seat beyond the screen whence 
she might overhear whatever Julian might say to the lady 
whom he was entertaining among the cushions ; that, on 
returning with Bertha on his arm, he had found Julian 
Charlton’s place taken by another and more entertaining 
man, who had speedily moved away, allowing Julian Charl- 
ton with Marian Travers to occupy the cushions. All 
this Sir Ecroyd knew ; and he was also aware of the fact 
that Bertha had overheard the words that Julian Charlton 
had spoken to Marian. 

That, he believed, was how the separation had been 
brought about. Whether it had occurred with the accom- 
paniment of a scene, or in the silent watches of the night, 
he did not know, nor did he greatly care. It was enough 
for him to feel that his plans had succeeded, only it had 
been rather a mistake to offer Cyril Southcote the appoint- 
ment in order to leave Marian free for Charlton. Sir 
Ecroyd had hitherto devoted himself to the science of 
annexation ; but his success in an entirely different field 
convinced him that his adroitness was not subject to any 
narrow limitations : he could separate as well as annex. 

Then he reflected upon his adroitness in dealing with the 
man who threatened to be troublesome. He had simply 
been frank with him. There are occasions when it is to 
the advantage of a cabinet minister to be straightforward. 
He was invariably straightforward on such occasions. He 
had been straightforward. The man had got into a pas- 


370 “/ FORBID THE BANNS f" 

sion ; but another dose of that unpalatable medicine of 
frankness, and he had quieted down. 

In what direction should his adroitness be exercised 
now? 

That was the question which presented itself to him as 
he rose from his chair, hearing the division bells clamoring 
for his presence, and put his novel under a blue-book. 
Then — of course without inquiring what the point was 
upon which the division was being taken — he went into the 
lobby with the other ministerialists. When the counting 
was over and the opposition were cheering at having gained 
a great moral victory — the opposition are great on morality 
when numerically they are about 150 less than the immoral 
government — Sir Ecroyd found himself beside the Minister 
for Public Safety. 

“ I wonder could you telephone to Tracey to be at my 
room in half an hour,” he said to that minister. 

“ Certainly. What do you want with Tracey, anyway ? ” 
said the Minister for Public Safety.” 

“ I want his advice about a threatening letter,” said Sir 
Ecroyd, who did not feel it incumbent on him to be straight- 
forward with his colleagues. His straighforwardness he 
used as an instrument for the chastisement of his enemies. 

A threatening letter ? Better hand it over to my 
department.” 

I’ll have Tracey’s advice first. What are they bellow- 
ing about now ? ” 

The remark had reference to the business of the House, 
which seemed to demand a considerable amount of shouting 
and gesticulating from some of the members. 

“ The usual thing. The McBratney declines to withdraw 
the word liar as applied to General Anderson, the Orange- 
man who represents Ulster. You’ll have to move the sus- 
pension of The McBratney if he is named.” 

All right. Don’t forget about Tracey.” 


ON PARLIAMENT AND THE PADDED ROOM, 37 1 

Sir Ecroyd strolled round to the Treasury bench while 
the hooting, and bellowing, and blustering went on. 
Such persons as are curious on the subject of the 
padded room and the cerebral phenomena that tend 
to that apartment should not go to Colney Hatch. The 
House of Commons in a “ scene ” will serve their purpose 
admirably. 

The McBratney stood disheveled, but defiant. He had 
been a pawnbroker’s assistant in a small town in the County 
Carlow previous to entering the House of Commons, and 
his professional duties had given him a certain mastery of 
language, but had not imparted to him any delicate sense 
of local color in phraseology. The intoxicated laborer who 
had questioned his accuracy in calculating the utmost sum 
chargeable upon a corduroy waistcoat, he had pacified by 
calling him a liar. He had attempted, with indifferent suc- 
cess, the pacification of some of his opponents in the House 
of Commons by a free use of the same word ; and now, 
owing to his deplorable deficiency of a sense of the local 
color attached to the word, he was about to be named by 
the Speaker. 

The chief of The McBratney’s party had just entered the 
House. He seated himself in front of The McBra4:ney, 
who was becoming more disheveled and defiant every 
moment. 

“ Did you call the man a liar, sir ? ” asked the chief in 
a low tone. 

“ I did, yer honner,” replied the honorable member. 

“ Then withdraw the word, sir,” said the chief. 

“ But isn’t he afther sayin’ ” 

“ Withdraw the word ; keep your blackguardism for the 
other side of the Channel.” 

The McBratney got sulkily to his legs. 

“ I withdhrah, Mr. Speaker,” he muttered. Then seating 
himself, while the cheers rang from all sides — for this was. 


372 


I FORBID THE BANNS!" 


it is scarcely necessary to say, another great moral victory 
for the opposition — the McBratney murmured in the sym- 
pathetic ear of his nearest colleague : 

“I’m thinkin’, Tim, if all the blayguardism was kep’ on 
the other side of the Channel, it’s not many of us would 
be here this day.” 


CHAPTER LI. 


ON PRIVATE INQUIRY. 

THERE is she to be found?” 

VV That was the question which Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh 
was asking himself, when he was sitting on the Treasury 
bench amid the bellowing of the herd around him — it is 
marvelous how the herd will bellow if only the merest cur 
snaps at their heels. 

“ Where is she to be found ? ” he now asked himself as 
he went back to his room to meet the person whose name 
he had mentioned to the Minister for Public Safety. 

Mr. Tracey was acknowledged to be the most astute of 
the detective force at Scotland Yard. 

He was an excellent officer in spite of the fact that he 
had not yet received that guarantee of efficiency — dismissal 
by the Minister for Public Safety. 

He was waiting at the door of Sir Ecroyd’s room, while 
the “ scenes ” were being shifted in the House. He touched 
his hat when the minister appeared. 

“You are there, Tracey? Good. I’ll not keep you a 
minute.” 

“ I am at your service. Sir Ecroyd.” 

He followed the minister into his room and closed the 
door. 

“ It is a woman, Tracey,” said Sir Ecroyd. 

“ Of course, Sir Ecroyd,” said the officer. 

The minister paused. He wondered were many mem- 
bers of the cabinet in the habit of consulting detectives 
regarding women. 


373 


374 


“7 FORBID THE BAHJVS F* 


“I mentioned to Mr. Secretary just now that I had 
received a threatening letter — of course that was not true,” 
said Sir Ecroyd. 

“ Of course,” said Tracey. 

Again there was a pause. Sir Ecroyd wondered if it was 
regarded as a matter of course that a statement made by a 
cabinet minister was false. 

I am greatly interested in this lady — she is a young 
woman.” 

“ Of course. Sir Ecroyd — of course.” 

The assent was very emphatic this time, as if the detective 
deprecated the bare suggestion that he should assume that 
the lady was otherwise than young. 

“ Yes,” said the minister. “ She is young. She has a 
husband.” 

“ Of course. Sir Ecroyd — of course — of course.” 

The assent was even more emphatic than before. 

Sir Ecroyd wondered if all the world assumed that it was 
a matter of course that a cabinet minister should be inter- 
ested in a woman — that that woman should be young, and 
that it was quite inevitable that that young woman should 
have a husband. 

“ She has a husband, but she separated from him this 
morning.’ 

“ Of CO ” 

“ And I am anxious to know where she has gone, and 
also that her husband should not have this information.” 

“ Of ” 

And, consequently, I have sent for you to manage it all 
for me. Her name is Mrs. Charlton. She has a great deal 
of money of her own. This is her likeness.” 

Sir Ecroyd took out of his breast pocket a case contain- 
ing a beautifully finished miniature portrait on ivory of 
Bertha. It had been painted to his order from a photo- 
graph taken in accordance with his instructions by one of 


ON PRIVATE INQUIRY. 375 

those diabolical instantaneous processes, the discovery of 
which has added a new terror to life. 

“ She. is the best horsewoman who has been in the habit 
of riding in the park,” said the detective. 

“ What — you have seen her ? ” 

“Frequently, Sir Ecroyd ; she has a seat like an 
Australian.” 

“ She is an Australian. I will write down the address of 
her husband for you. He is searching for her also. He 
will probably put the matter into the hands of Renard & 
Lupus. You will, of course, see them, and give them to 
understand that I do not want to be interfered with, for 
some time, at any rate. There will be no difficulty about 
that, I suppose ? ” 

“ Difficulty ? Oh, dear, no, none in the world.” 

The detective smiled. The suggestion that there might 
possibly be some difficulty in inducing a private inquiry 
agent to sacrifice the interests of his employers in order to 
suit the convenience of another person, seemed to contain 
the elements of humor in the opinion of Mr. Tracey. 

“Then I leave the matter in your hands, Tracey. I 
need hardly say that no expense need be spared.” 

“ Of course not. Sir Ecroyd. The money is her own ? ” 

“ Altogether, I understand.” 

“ That is our starting point. Do you happen to know 
who are her bankers ?” 

“ No ; but perhaps I can find out,” 

“ There are several colonial banks. Sir Ecroyd.” 

“ Inquiry can be made at all.” 

“ And the lady’s maiden name. Sir Ecroyd ? ” 

“ Miss Lancaster — Bertha Lancaster.” 

Mr. Tracey took a note of each item of information 
in a somewhat dilapidated pocketbook. He then picked 
up his hat. 

“ If the lady remains in London we shall have no 




‘/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


difficulty in finding her, Sir Ecroyd. Meanwhile, however 
— the — threatening letter ? ” 

“ Is a bogus one, in your opinion, Tracey — not worth 
following up.” 

“ Quite so, Sir Ecroyd — not worth following up. Torn 
up. Sir Ecroyd — torn up and flung out of the window. 
Good afternoon. Sir Ecroyd.” 

In the lobby on his way out Tracey met the Minister for 
Public Safety, and touched his hat. 

“Ah, Tracey; by the way — what about that letter?” 
said that minister. 

“ Practical joke, as usual, sir,” replied Tracey. “ Fraud 
in every line of it. Wh)^, it wouldn’t deceive a child, sir — a 
child ! it wouldn’t deceive an expert, sir.” 

“ So clumsy as that ? Where is it, Tracey ? ” 

“ Sir Ecroyd tore it up and threw it out of the window, 
sir. If I had only known that you wanted to see it, 
sir ” 

“ Oh, no, no ; I don’t want to see it. I wonder that Sir 
Ecroyd didn’t perceive that it was not genuine.” 

Tracey touched his hat again, and departed into the 
comparatively pure air which may be breathed outside St. 
Stephen’s. 

In the course of an hour Mr. Tracey had visited the 
private inquiry offices of Messrs. Renard & Lupus, and had 
learned that a Mr. Charlton had intrusted them with the 
duty of discovering the whereabouts of his wife. They 
were obliging enough to give Mr. Tracey all the particulars 
which had been communicated to them by their client ; and 
although Mr. Tracey knew that Sir Ecroyd was too clever 
to be otherwise than frank with him on the subject of the 
search for the lady, he thought there was no harm in veri- 
fying the details regarding her which he had received from 
the minister. The only piece of original intelligence that 
he got from these private inquiry agents was to the effect 


ON PRIVATE INQUIRY. 


377 


that Mr. Charlton had called at his wife’s bankers, and had 
found that she had already been with them on that morning 
and had drawn a considerable sum in gold and notes — a 
sum that should be sufficiently large to prevent her being 
at the necessity of making another call at the bank for 
several weeks, unless she was a very extravagant woman. 
Mr. Tracey thought that he would be doing wisely if he were 
to assume that she was a very extravagant woman. His 
experience had led him to the conclusion that most women 
who had differences with their husbands entailing a separa- 
tion were extravagant women. 

He did not say anything to Messrs. Renard & Lupus, 
however, on this point ; but merely told them that they 
must have the kindness to communicate with him in the 
first instance in case they found out, anything regarding 
the subject of their commission, otherwise he might not in 
future be able to put so many good things in their way as 
he had done in the past. 

Mr. Renard assured his friend Mr. Tracey that the firm 
would do nothing — except, of course, take money from Mr. 
Charlton — without first acquainting Mr. Tracey with what- 
ever they might chance to discover. 

As for Julian Charlton, he dined at his club, and went 
home afterward to dress, in order to put in an appearance 
among a few hundred other people in a drawing room. He 
would not give anyone a chance of suggesting that some- 
thing had occurred to interfere with the meeting of all his 
social engagements. In a day or two at the farthest — for 
were not these confidential agents marvelously clever fel- 
lows ? — he would have Bertha by his side again, and there 
would not be a breath of scandal regarding her leaving his 
house. All that was necessary to be done was to maintain 
his even course in society until she returned. Consequently 
he thought fit to dress this evening and appear alone at 
the social function for which he had engaged himself. He 


378 *‘/ FORBID THE BANNS 

had only to apologize for the absence of Mrs. Charlton, 
who had, unfortunately, he said, been so knocked up with 
the unaccustomed festivities of the past few weeks that her 
doctor had ordered her without a moment’s delay back to 
Brackenshire. 

The loneliness of driving in “his brougham to and from 
the house where the entertainment took place was appall- 
ing to him ; but much more appalling was the loneliness of 
his house when he returned. He had been accustomed to 
smoke a cigarette by the side of Bertha on returning with 
her every night, while they chatted about the toilets, the 
music, the guests — it had been delightful, until that mad- 
ness had taken hold of him. 

How could he ever have said a word of unkindness to 
her, he asked himself as he now sat alone in his bedroom. 
Sir Ecroyd had confessed that he had been in love with 
her from the day he met her at Lady Ashenthorpe’s garden 
party ; and he had declared that he meant to try to induce 
her to marry him. Only for a moment did a jealous pang 
shoot through Charlton. Then he was able to smile, as he 
contemplated the possibility of the minister succeeding. 

He could not entertain a doubt of her now. 

Even though he knew that he had behaved with incon- 
ceivable brutality to her he believed that she would forgive 
him. 

He recalled what Sir Ecroyd had told him regarding the 
horrible insult to which she had been subjected by the 
scoundrel whose punishment he had witnessed. What a 
fool he had been to fancy — no, not to fancy — only to fancy 
that he fancied that the troubled expression which she wore 
on that night was due to some other cause than that horri- 
ble incident about which Sir Ecroyd had spoken to him ! 

The unhappy girl ! Instead of having such comforting 
words spoken to her by the man whom she had trusted with 
all her soul as should make her forget the insult that had 


ON PRIVATE INQUIRY. 


379 


been offered to her, she had been met by him with coldness 
and suspicion. And then, the next night, she had over- 
heard him speak those words which came from the bitter- 
ness of his heart : “ She is not my wife.” 

He knew that those words represented the anguish that 
he had been suffering for days ; but he knew that they were 
not the less cruel when overheard by Bertha. 

How could he explain them ? 

He sprang to his feet. 

“ I shall not make any attempt to explain,” he cried. “ If 
she has not already found out, or if she will not have found 
out by the time we meet again, that the sort of life we were 
leading — the form of union which I was weak enough to 
yield to — is founded on an error and cannot be maintained 
as society is at present constituted — if she has not learned 
that it develops one’s worst and not one’s best nature, it is 
better that we should never meet again.” 

He paced the room for hours — until all the objects in the 
room had become luminous in the morning light. The 
possibility of never meeting her again was too terrible to 
permit of his having a moment of sleep, he knew. But 
surely she had come to perceive the truth of her position, 
he thought. Surely that gross insult to which she had been 
^subjected must have convinced her that the theories of life 
upon which she had acted and induced him to act did not 
possess the elements of stability. Finally he recalled what 
Mr. Hardy had said regarding the most important influence 
to which Bertha could be subjected, in order to induce her 
to return to her home. The possibility to which Mr. Hardy 
had alluded caused all Julian’s tender feelings to be 
aroused. He fell on his knees and cried aloud in a passion 
of tears, “ O God ! O God ! give her back to me — give 
her back to me ! ” 

That is the prayer of the widower beside the grave of the 
woman whose life he has made such a hell that an eternity 


380 “/ FORBID THE BANNS 

of heaven would but indifferently compensate for her suffer- 
ings. God is so just that not only does he not answer the 
prayer of the widower, but he usually provides him with 
another wife of such strength of character as causes the 
sufferings of the first to be amply avenged. 

If ever a marriage is made in heaven, under the especial 
supervision of the highest powers therein, it is the marriage 
of the widower to a Woman of Determination, after he has 
ill treated his first wife. 

“ Give her back to me,’* he cries in his passion of 
grief. 

He would like to have another trial. But he does not 
get it. 

God knows man a little better than that. 

He may now and again give a man over for the devil to 
do his worst upon him ; but he has never yet given the 
wife back to the husband who has ill-treated her to death. 


CHAPTER LIT. 


ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A CLEW. 

J ULIAN CHARLTON remained in his house all the 
next day. He was waiting to receive a visit from one 
of the firm of private inquiry agents. He had frequently 
heard of the astuteness of Messrs. Renard & Lupus, and 
if they possessed any ability whatever, surely they had 
now a chance of displaying it ! The finding of Bertha was 
not a matter that demanded any extraordinary powers, 
only the ordinary astuteness of a private inquiry bureau. 

Messrs. Renard & Lupus called their office a bureau. 
The word suggested the United States, and the United 
States suggested extraordinary astuteness. 

He was surprised when the evening came without bring, 
ing any message or messenger from the agents. He lunched 
at home, but meant to dine at his club, for the loneliness 
of the house had become oppressive to him. He drove to 
the bureau and was fortunate enough to find Mr. Lupus 
there. Mr. Lupus looked extremely knowing. To look 
knowing is to suggest that you know a great deal more 
than you would like to confess under the most extraordinary 
pressure. 

Mr. Lupus said that his men had not actually succeeded 
in discovering the whereabouts of the lady ; but they had a 
clew. Mr. Charlton would be kept fully informed as to 
how the clew operated. 

This was satisfactory, in a measure, to Mr. Charlton, but 
when the next day passed without any more definite result 
he did not feel quite so satisfied. He asked Mr. Lupus 
what was the nature of the clew that he held, but Mr. Lupus 

381 


382 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


smiled and looked more knowing than ever. The secrets 
of the profession could not be divulged, he said. The 
machinery which he had at his command was so sensitive 
that it wds liable to be dislocated unless treated with the 
greatest delicacy. Mr. Charlton might rest assured that 
his best interests were considered by a maintenance of 
secrecy. 

Mr. Charlton said he could not see why he should not be 
made acquainted with whatever clew was in the hands of 
Messrs. Renard & Lupus. He trusted, at any rate, that 
there would be no expense spared in the search. At this 
point Mr. Lupus brightened up and assured his client that 
no expense would be spared. He was perfectly sincere in 
making this assurance. Whatever means of discovery were 
spared by Messrs. Renard & Lupus, expense was not 
among them. 

The next day Julian had a visit from one of Messrs. 
Renard & Lupus’ men. He was certainly the most stupid 
looking man Julian had ever seen ; but he reflected that 
this appearance of dullness could not but be to the advan- 
tage of any man in his profession, as it tended to deceive 
people with whom he came in contact, leading them to 
fancy that he was excessively stupid instead of being what 
Julian believed to be just the opposite — an offlcer in the 
employment of the most noted private inquiry bureau in 
London. 

Could it be possible that this man was trying to look 
knowing after the manner of his chief, Charlton wondered. 
The smile and confidential wink of the man certainly sug- 
gested that this was his aim. He signally failed in impress- 
ing Charlton with his knowingness. A more foolish looking 
fellow he had never seen. The profound depth of his 
stupidity was shown in his effort to impress Julian that he 
was knowing. 

He put some apparently silly questions to Mr. Charlton, 


ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A CLEW. 383 

comparing his answers with some notes which he seemed 
to have made in the usual greasy pocketbook. Then he 
reclasped the book and put it into his pocket, saying quietly : 

“We’ve spotted her.” 

“ If you mean to say that you have discovered the where- 
abouts of the lady for whom your masters have been paid 
to search,” said Julian, “you might perhaps choose more 
suitable language for expressing yourself to that effect.” 

“ I’ll bring you, sir, to the ’ouse where our young woman 
is lying purdoo, as the French says.” 

“ Put on your hat, my man, and come along,” said Julian. 
“ Bring me to the house you talk of.” 

“ If you’ll be cautious, sir,” said the man. “ If you’ll 
give me your word as a gentleman that you’ll not make a 
mess of my discovery all at once. I’ll bring you there.” 

“Come along,” said Julian. 

The detective, without further attempting to make con- 
ditions, followed him outside. A hansom was hailed and 
he whispered the address to the driver. It was to a street 
in Pimlico that the harisom was brought ; the driver was 
paid and dismissed, and the detective, leading Julian from 
street to street, explained at considerable length how he 
had been a bit too clever for the hansom driver ; he had 
told him the wrong address. It wasn’t likely, he explained, 
that he was going to give himself away so easily to a han- 
som driver. 

He stopped at the end of a quiet street.' 

“ Number thirty- two,” he whispered. “You stand here, 
sir, while I reckonoiter, as the French says. She mostly sits 
at a window on the ground floor reading. I’ll see if she is 
there now, and come round to you by one of the back 
streets. I’m a bit too smart to come straight back to you. 

“Would it not be easier for you to make some sign tome 
if she is sitting there, so that I can follow you up at once? ” 
suggested Julian. 


3^4 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!” 


“ Lor’ bless you ! ” said the man, ‘‘ if the people about 
saw me signaling to you — even if it was only waving my ’at 
or blowing three blasts on a whistle, they’d suspect that 
summat was up, and our game would be over. Civilians 
’ave no caution. It takes us.” 

“ Look here, my man,” said Julian. “ You walk up past 
that house. If the lady is at the window, as you say she 
usually is at this hour, put your left hand into your pocket. 
If she’s not there, walk straight on as before.” 

“ Well, if it don’t turn out all right, don’t blame me, that’s 
all,” said the detective. 

He strolled up the street whistling so loudly to impress 
the passers-by with his nonchalance that the people stared 
at him and wondered what he was up to. When he came 
opposite number thirty-two he glared in at the window, and 
looking back at Charlton stuffed his hand into his coat 
pocket three times and then walked on. 

Surely there never was such a fool in any employment, 
Julian thought as he walked down the street. But in spite 
of his acquaintance with the man’s stupidity, he felt his 
heart beating quickly as he approached the house number 
thirty-two. If Bertha had wished to hide herself effectively, 
she could not have chosen a better street for the purpose. 
He walked on and almost gave a gasp as he turned his glance 
casually to the window into which the detective had glared. 

He gave a greater gasp when he saw sitting at that 
window a young woman with a complexion of magnolia 
balm, and hair of a tint of gold that is supplied, not by 
nature in her most lavish mood, but by the coiffeur at half 
a crown a bottle — a young woman who smiled at him in the 
most gracious manner possible, considering that he was a 
total stranger. 

A hansom was passing. Julian hailed it and gave the 
driver his address. He left the detective to look after 
himself. 


ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A CLEiV. 385 

He was somewhat surprised to find a second hansom 
waiting outside the door of his house as he drove up. 

“ A lady is waiting to see you, in the drawing room, sir,” 
said the footman. 

A curious thought seized upon him. What if it should 
be Bertha who had returned for some purpose, having 
disguised herself so as to deceive the servants ! He 
had frequently read in works of fiction of the extraor- 
dinary possibilities of disguise possessed by a woman’s 
veil. In the absence of a veil colored spectacles have 
been known to deceive — in fiction — even a husband and 
children for years. 

He went up to the drawing room, and was greeted by 
Mrs. Hardy. 

“ Do you bring me news of her?” he cried. “Say that 
you have found her for me.” 

“ Calm yourself,” said the lady. “ I bring you news of 
her — not directly. She has gone back to Australia.” 

He fell into a chair, and stared blankly out of the nearest 
window. 

“ Back to Australia,” he muttered. 

“ Back to Australia, indeed,” said Mrs. Hardy. 

“ Fool — fool — fool ! Not to have thought of that at the 
first,” said he. “ But she is gone. It only remains forme to 
follow her — to follow her to the uttermost ends of the earth. 
How have you heard this, Mrs. Hardy ?” he asked, turning 
to that lady. • 

“ Eric Vicars it was who suggested it,” she replied. “ He 
wrote to the two steamship companies that take passengers 
to Australia to ask if any berths had been taken for Miss 
Lancaster or Mrs. Charlton — you see we did not know 
whether she would still keep your name or ” 

“Yes, yes, of course ; and he got a reply? ” 

“ From one company saying that no berths had been taken 
under either name. From the second he received this.” 


386 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS/ 


She handed him a letter and he read it. 

“ Sir : 

“ In reply to your favor of the 13th inst., I beg to say that two berths 
have been secured for Miss Lancaster and maid aboard our steamship 
Pango Pango^ which leaves Utterport for Adelaide, Sydney, and Mel- 
bourne on Thursday the 17th inst. 

“ I have the honor to be, sir, 

“Yours respectfully, 

“ Per pro, the Antipodean Steamship Co. (Ltd.), 

“ J. B. D." 

“ Great Heavens ! ” cried Julian. “ To-day is Thursday, 
the 17th. The steamer has sailed from Utterport. This 
letter was written on the 15th. Why did you not bring it 
to me yesterday ? ” 

“I had not got it myself, Mr. Charlton,’' said Mrs. 
Hardy. “ Eric is in the country. You know that Bertha 
bought a large farm for him.” 

“ I heard nothing of this.” 

That is rather strange. Oh, I recollect, she said to me 
that you had taken a dislike to Eric, and that you had told 
her that she might give him any money she wished, pro- 
vided that she did not mention his name. Oh, yes ; this is 
the letter I received from him inclosing the one you have. 
Yes, he says, ‘ I got the inclosed to-day ’ — that was yester- 
day — ‘ and I think you had better post it to Charlton. It 
will relieve his mind. I don’t care about him personally ; 
but still I have a heart and ’ ” 

“What if the steamer may be delayed at Utterport?” 
shouted Julian. “I may still be in time.” 

He made a rush for the door and returned in a few 
moments with an open railway guide. 

“There is a train at 5.10,” he cried. “ Can I reach the 
station in sixteen minutes ? By Heavens, I’ll try. I’ll take 
your hansom, Mrs. Hardy.” 

Not a word could Mrs. Hardy utter. She watched him 


ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A CLEW. 387 

from the window show the driver half a sovereign as he got 
into the hansom, and she heard the rattle of the vehicle out 
of the square. It was some time before she had sufficiently 
recovered to go downstairs and explain to the footman that 
Mr. Charlton had been called away suddenly on important 
business. The footman appeared to be profoundly indif- 
ferent to all business considerations. He opened the door, 
and the lady went down the steps. 

At the risk of a prosecution for furious driving, the 
hansom driver earned his half sovereign. The railway 
station was reached a minute before the departure of the 
train. At the end of that minute Charlton was on his way 
to Utterport. 

He had no thought but the one — “ Shall I be in time 2 ” 

The rattle of the axles of the train and the reverbera- 
tions of the banks and the cuttings seemed to be shouting 
that question, “ Shall I be in time 2 ” 

The letter from the steamship company had not stated 
any hour for the departure of the vessel on “ Thursday the 
17th inst.” Surely it was not too much to infer from that 
that the vessel would not sail until late in the day. 

He had great hope that he would arrive in time to leap 
aboard the steamer and either bring Bertha back with him 
or go on with her to Australia. 

The train stopped at many stations on the route to 
Utterport, and the station-masters were of that highly 
respectable class of men who enjoy a chat with the passen- 
gers, and are ready to give ample expression to their views 
on any agricultural question. Many such chats were 
enjoyed by everyone, except Charlton, in the train. 

“ A highly respectable man, that station master,” a 
fejlow-passenger remarked to Julian, after an unusually 
protracted conversation on the Irish question. “A highly 
respectable man, sir ; he was once a bank porter.” 

The passenger seemed to be under the impression that 


388 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


the fact of his being on speaking terms with a person pos- 
sessing such undoubted guarantees of respectability con- 
ferred distinction upon the whole compartment. 

Charlton said “ Indeed ! ” and relapsed once more, turn- 
ing all his attention to the solution of the question which 
was being rattled out from every carriage and thundered 
through the horrible blackness of the tunnels, Shall I be 
in time ? 

At last he caught a glimpse of the sea, glittering in light 
ripples beneath the gold of the declining sun. Ships were 
in the distance — the white sails of cutter yachts, the thin, 
dark line of a steamer’s smoke, the monstrous mass of an 
ironclad, the canvas of a fishing boat — he saw all these, 
and he felt the salt sea breeze upon his face as he looked 
out of the carriage window. 

The terminus at Utterport is at the quay side. When 
Julian left the carriage he ran to the place of exit from the 
station. A quay porter with a brass badge on his arm was 
standing outside. 

“ If you show me the Australian liner Pango Pango I’ll 
give you half a crown,” he said. “ Can you show me 
her?” 

“ Certainly, sir ; no difficulty in the world about that,” 
said the man. “ But you must hurry, sir, or you will be too 
late.” 

“ Thank Heaven! thank Heaven! I am in time,” thought 
Julian as he followed the porter, who had broken into 
a trot. 

The man hurried along the quay side for a few hundred 
yards and then crossed to the breakwater, which, as every- 
one knows, is surmounted by a granite parapet breast high. 
At one side of the breakwater are the quays, at the other is 
the open Channel. The porter ran up the high stone steps 
and Julian followed him until they were side by side, with 
their heads above the granite of the parapet. 


ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A CLEW. 3^9 

“ We’re just in time, sir,” cried the man, breathing hard. 
“ Just in time ? ” said Julian. 

“ Yes, sir ; we can just see the craft. There she is, sir ; 
that’s the Pango Pango.” 

He pointed to a line ol black smoke hve miles out in the 
Channel. 


V 


CHAPTER LIII. 


ON SOME GRAINS OF COMFORT. 

I T was half-past ten o’clock when Julian Charlton 
returned to London. He drove at once to the house in 
Chelsea, and found both Mr. and Mrs. Hardy in the stuffy 
sitting room. He told them how he had arrived just half 
an hour too late to be able to board the jPango Pango, and 
asked them for their advice under the circumstances. 
A couple of months before he would have laughed at the 
idea of asking the advice of such persons. He had always 
regarded Mrs. Hardy as the most commonplace woman 
whom he had ever met, and he had looked on her husband 
as a ridiculous kind of person. 

Now, however, he felt that he had reason to revise his 
opinions regarding the lady as well as her husband. Mrs. 
Hardy had shown herself, in respect of the letter, to be 
prompt, in spite of her deeply founded prejudice against 
rapidity of action — leaving stone steps out of the question 
altogether. Mr. Hardy had not merely shown himself to 
be a true prophet, he had spoken words of wisdom and 
words of hope in the hearing of Julian a few days before. 
Julian was glad to be able to go to them and take counsel 
with them as to what he should now do, having failed to 
reach the Australian liner before she had left Utterport. 

The advice which they gave him Julian believed to be 
wise ; it coincided with his own views ; and he left Chelsea 
feeling more impressed than ever with the soundness of the 
wisdom of the secretary to the carnisolists. 

They agreed with him that what he should do was to 
telegraph to the first port where the Pango Pango should 


390 


ON SOME GRAINS OF COMFORT. 391 

cast anchor, telling Bertha that he was following her by the 
next steamer ; and then to take a passage by the next 
steamer to Sydney. 

Re determined to take this advice, which he had sug- 
gested to Mr. and Mrs. Hardy as embodying the course 
which he should adopt under the circumstances. 

The Antipodean Line steamers make the voyage round 
the Cape. If the Pango Pango had sailed for the voyage by 
the Mediterranean he would have had no difficulty in over- 
taking her at Marseilles, Naples, or Brindisi. But there 
was no convenient overland route to Madeira. There was 
no shorter way of reaching Funchal than by the steamship 
Pango Pango. All that he could do was to telegraph, and 
wait for the next steamer. 

He walked to his house, and before ringing for something 
to eat and drink, he sat down and wrote his letter to Messrs. 
Renard & Lupus, directing them to refrain from making 
any further attempt to discover the whereabouts of the 
lady about whom he had instructed them, and asking them 
to let him know for what amount he should send them a 
check. He sent his letter to its destination by messenger, 
and it was handed over to Mr. Tracey of Scotland Yard 
within an hour, and its contents brought under the notice 
of Sir Ecroyd Fairleigh on his return from the House at 
half-past twelve o’clock. 

“What does it mean, Tracey?” asked the minister. 
“ Has she gone back to her husband, do you fancy?” 

“ Hard to say. Sir Ecroyd,” said Tracey. “ Might I ask 
if there is a baby in the custody of the father — that is, of 
the husband ? ” 

“ There is none,” replied the minister. 

“ They usually take a run back to have a look at the 
bady. Sir Ecroyd,” remarked the detective. “ And as 
there's none in this case, it’s my belief that Mr. Charlton 
has only got tired of waiting for Lupus to do something. 


392 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS! 


He was at the bureau ver)^ impatient a couple of days ago. 
You should have seen the man that Lupus put on the job 
for him, Sir Ecroyd — one of their Gamps.” 

“ Their what ? ” 

“ Their Gamps, we call them. Sir Ecroyd. They invent 
good names for queer proceedings in Ireland, Sir Ecroyd. 
They struck upon the word ‘ boycott ’ a few years ago, now 
they have hit upon ‘ shadowing.’ Lupus has several 
shadowers, and as an umbrella does something in the way 
of shadowing, we call Lupus’ shadowers Sarey Gamps. 
They put one of their Gamps on this job— a man that is fit 
for nothing but watching actresses’ goings-on for a third 
party.” 

‘‘ I don’t believe that she will return,” said Sir Ecroyd 
after a pause. “ Wherever she may be, she will not return 
to him of her own accord. Keep your eyes open, Tracey.’ 

“ You may depend on that, Sir Ecroyd,” said the officer, 
touching his hat. 

Julian Charlton slept more easily than he had yet done 
since Bertha had left him. He knew where she was. 
That was a great relief to his mind — to feel that he 
could communicate with her. She was not lost to him. 
The telegram which he would send to her would certainly 
be put into her hand ; and whatever she might have felt on 
overhearing the cruel words which he had spoken, she 
would now be made to know that they meant nothing — that 
he still looked on himself as her husband — that he would 
never cease to think of her as his wife. 

He sent his telegram two days later ; and then he knew 
that there was nothing left for him but to wait for her 
reply. 

What would that reply be, he asked himself. He knew 
what form of reply would be most comforting to him. If 
he were to receive a message bearing the words, “/ am 
reiia'iiin^y" he would ask for nothing more. 


ON SOME GRAINS OF THOUGHT. 


393 


Four days passed, and then he knew that the steamer 
Pango Pango have reached Madeira. Any moment 

might bring him the message that he hoped for. The fifth 
day passed, and yet no message was forthcoming. He 
could not stand the suspense of waiting indoors ; he drove 
to the London office of the Antipodean Steamship Com- 
pany, and inquired if the Pango Pango had reached 
Madeira. The clerk showed him the telegram which had 
been received at the office. The steamer had anchored the 
previous night, and was to proceed on her voyage in 
eighteen hours. He made a calculation ; the steamer 
would, at the very moment that he was standing in the 
office, be getting under weigh in Funchal harbor. He 
hastened back to his house. Surely a telegram would be^ 
awaiting him ! 

There was none. 

He waited until the next morning, and then he went to 
Chelsea. Mrs. Hardy had some grains of comfort for him. 
Perhaps Bertha might, after all, be only longing to get once 
more among the scenes with which she had been familiar in 
her early life, she said. Might it not be possible that she 
had taken a sudden dislike to London and London society, 
and was now filled with a yearning after the great pastures 
in the midst of which her early life had been passed ? It 
was not only possible, but quite likely, that she had set her 
heart upon this, and that she therefore had refrained from 
telegraphing from Madeira. It might even be that she was 
anxious that he should follow her to Australia. 

Julian clutched at this hope. He knew what Mrs. Hardy 
did not know regarding Bertha’s last days in society. 
Would not a woman of the nature of Bertha endeavor to 
fly to the uttermost ends of the earth to escape from 
everything that might recall the horrible insult that had 
been offered to her by the wretch who had been punished 
by Charlie Barham ? 


394 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS!'' 


The more he reflected upon this point, the more certain 
did he become that she had not replied to his telegram from 
Madeira in order that he might follow her. 

He looked at the first page of a daily newspaper for the 
sailings of the Antipodean steamers from Utterport, and he 
found that the Wagga Wagga was advertised to start from 
Utterport the next day. 

Without a moment’s delay he called on the agent from 
whom he had obtained the house, and gave him instructions 
to settle with the servants and to take charge of the house 
once again for its owner. He told his own man to pack up 
a couple of portmanteaus, and the next morning he started 
for Utterport. 


CHAPTER LIV. 


ON THE CONCLUSION OF THE EXPERIMENT. 

T he town of Utterport seemed to be holding high festi- 
val. Two bands were braying away, one at the head 
and the other at the tail of a great procession of well-dressed, 
rosy-cheeked, good-humored looking men, the majority of 
whom were passing jests among themselves. They carried 
several banners bearing such legends as “Down with the 
Docks!” “TheMenare the Masters!” “More Pay and 
More Play!” “Black Eyes to the Black Legs!” 

At' various places along the route men were standing on 
barrels addressing the crowds, and enforcing their arguments 
by liberal gesticulation and the crashing of the right fist into 
the left palm. The cheers that greeted almost every thump 
made a fitting vocal accompaniment to the braying of the 
bands. 

In a moment Julian perceived what this unusual state of 
things meant. The annual festival of the trades unionists — 
a general strike — was taking place. It was on this account 
the bands were playing and the banners flying. This was the 
origin of the gayety and the joyous humor manifested by the 
procession. The new dock had just reached a critical point 
in its recovery after the depression of years, and required 
most careful treatment ; the dock laborers had been earning 
eighteen shillings a day, and the Chancellor of the Excheq- 
uer had just been receiving a surplus of about a million 
from extra duty on rum. It was at this stage that the self- 
appointed guardians of the interests of the men had ordered 
the holding of the festival of New Unionism — a general 
strike. 


395 


39 ^ “/ FORBID 1HE BANiXS-!” 

Julian got his portmanteaus put upon a cab, and drove 
down the docks to the berth of the Antipodean Steamship 
Company, at which the Wagga Wagga was lying. No 
laborers were to be seen in any direction. Scores of steamers 
and fine vessels were lying in the docks, waiting to be dis- 
charged; but the holds were covered with their hatches and 
tarpaulins. The Wagga Wagga was announced to start 
oil her voyage on this day; but her decks did not suggest 
a speedy release. Only half her cargo was stowed; steam 
had not been got up in her boilers. The sailors were engaged 
painting and polishing and varnishing. 

Julian went aboard, and found the chief steward, and that 
functionary explained that the strike had occurred the pre- 
vious day. The man had not the least idea what had 
occurred to induce the leaders to order a strike, but the 
general impression was that it was due to the circumstance 
that a clerk in one of the agent’s offices had employed a 
shoeblack who did not belong to any recognized union to 
clean his boots. This was considered an offense which the 
New Unionism could not possibly allow to pass without 
notice; so the four thousand men in the docks were com- 
manded to leave off work. 

But the steamer was announced to sail that day, Julian 
reminded the steward. 

“We’re in the hands of the men, sir,’’ said the steward. 
“We can do nothing without their permission. Long ago, 
in the religious days, sir, you may remember that the sail- 
ings of the steamers were always announced with the D. V. 
— meaning, I believe, God willing — before the date. The 
owners would do well to put the letters in again sir ; the D. 
meaning the dockers.’’ 

“But surely you will make some move,’’ said Julian. 

“The agent was here an hour ago, sir,’’ replied the man; 
“and he said whether or not we got the rest of the cargo 
aboard the steamer we should start to-morrow night.’’ 


ON THE CONCLUSION OF THE EXPERIMENT. 397 

“Then I may as well choose a cabin for myself,” said 
Julian. “What about the staterooms abaft the deck house? 
I should like a berth there. ^Are they all engaged?” 

The steward referred to his plan of the cabins. 

“Let me see, sir,” he said. “I can give you the upper 
bunk in the starboard deck house. The port deck house 
was taken three days ago for a gentleman and his wife — yes, 
there are the names — ‘Mr. and Mrs. Julian Charlton for 
Sydney.’ ” 

“Mr. and Mrs. ” cried Julian. 

“Charlton, sir; I think that’s the name. Look for your- 
self. Don’t you make that Charlton, sir?” 

Julian glanced at the plan; beyond a doubt the name was 
Charlton. 

“You didn’t happen to see this Mr. Charlton and his wife, 
steward?” he inquired. 

“Not I, sir,” replied the steward. “He must have taken 
the deck house at the London office, and he has probably 
read in this morning’s papers that the strike would prevent 
us from sailing to-day. I wonder you didn’t see it your- 
self, sir.” 

“I was stupid enough not to open a newspaper this morn- 
ing,” said Julian. “I tell you what it is, steward, I should 
like to see this Mr. Charlton before I engage a berth. Would 
you mind sending one of the lads to me when he comes 
aboard? I shall put up for the night at the Black Swan, I 
think. It is close at hand, is it not?” 

“Just outside the dock, sir; a very comfortable hotel, if 
a bit old-fashioned for Americans,” said the steward. “I’ll 
not fail to send a lad to you, sir. But what name shall he 
inquire for?” 

“Lancaster,” said Julian. “Let him ask at the hotel for 
Mr. Lancaster, and I shall return to the steamer with him 
to see this Mr. Charlton — he may be an old friend of mine.” 

“I’ll not fail, Mr. Lancaster,” said the steward. “In the 


39 ^ 


“/ FORBID THE BANNS' 


dock before a magistrate is where the dockers should be put 
— banners and bands and all. That’s how I’d dock their 
finery for them, sir.” 

The steward seemed to be gifted with a very pretty wit. 
Julian wondered if it was popular among his passengers. 

He did not allow this question to engross all his thoughts, 
however. He was still able to give some attention to the 
question of the identity of the persons whose names he had 
just seen on the list of passengers of the Wagga Wagga. 

What could it mean, he asked himself. Who was the Mr. 
Julian Charlton for whom a cabin had been taken aboard 
the steamer! His name was not a common one. A Mr. 
John Brown or a Mr. John Jones might be found in the 
passenger list of many steamers without causing surprise to 
a second Mr. John Brown or Mr. John Jones; but in his 
case it was different. A second Julian Charlton taking a 
passage to Sydney might be regarded as a remarkable coin- 
cidence. 

He went to the old-fashioned hotel, the Black Swan, and 
engaged a bedroom, tearing the labels off his portmanteaus, 
and giving the name of Lancaster. A small bar was at the 
end of the hall. It seemed that in this place the business 
of the house was done. School slates with memoranda on 
them were hanging on either side of the window. Julian 
communicated to the young woman who was in charge of 
the place his desire to see one of the cabin lads of the 
Wagga Wagga the moment he should call, inquiring for 
Mr. Lancaster. The young woman made a memorandum 
to this effect on one of the slates, and told him that it was 
all right. 

For the rest of the day he remained in the coffeeroom 
reading newspapers, and thinking over the question of the 
names. Was it possible that the name Julian Charlton was 
commoner than he believed it to be? 

Scarcely anyone entered the coffeeroom during the day. 


017 THE CONCLUSION OF THE EXPERIMENT. 399 


The strike, it was explained to him by’ the waiter, had 
driven everyone away from the docks to the town. If it 
continued it would ruin the business of the Black Swan as 
well as the dock companies, the man assured him. 

The next morning he strolled through the dock to the 
steamer. He learned from the steward that Mr. Charlton 
had not yet put in an appearance. The agent of the com- 
pany was in the cabin, and he told Julian that, as there was 
no appearance of the men returning to work, the company had 
resolved to dispatch the steamer without waiting to com- 
plete her loading. The Wagga Wagga would leave Utter- 
port that night, he said. 

Julian returned to the hotel. The coffeeroom was on 
the first floor. It was a large double room. It had evi- 
dently once had folding doors in the center, separating the 
front room from the back, but the doors had been removed. 
At a table to the right of the partitioning wall, that still 
remained though the doors were gone, Julian seated him- 
self and partook of lunch. Then he moved to a horsehair 
sofa still further in the corner of the inner room, and in 
spite of the horsehair and the delapidated springs he fell 
asleep. 

When he awoke it was with a sense of familiarity with 
the place, for which he could not account. What was there 
near that should convey to hjm this curious sense of famili- 
arity? 

He heard the sound of voices in the outer room. He 
clutched spasmodically at the arm of the sofa, and gave 
a gasp. Had he awakened, or was it the fancy of a dream? 
How was it that he was listening to the voice of Bertha in 
conversation with someone in the outer room? 

He sat motionless on the sofa, staring at the space where 
the folding doors had once been. Even when he had heard 
several sentences spoken the sensation of being asleep was 
still upon him. The consciousness of dreaming frequently 


400 


‘/ FORBID Tim BANNS!'' 


occurs to one in a dream This is what he believed he was 
experiencing. 

“I thought that I had one friend who understood me, and 
that that friend was you, Sir Ecroyd,” Bertha was saying 
in her quiet tones. 

A murmur in another voice followed. Julian could not 
recognize it as the voice of Sir Ecroyd. 

“I cannot agree with you,” was the response of Bertha to 
the words that were inaudible to Julian. ‘T cannot possi- 
bly agree with you. You talk of hoping that I will allow you 
to restore me to my place in society. The expression of 
such a hope is — no, I will not call it an insult — I will only 
say that it deprives you of whatever regard I may once 
have had for you. Sir Ecroyd — it brings you very close to 
my contempt. I have really nothing more to say to you on 
this subject. ” 

“You cannot understand me.” Julian had now no diffi- 
culty in recognizing the cold, measured words of the minister. 
“You cannot understand me. Did I speak a word to you 
regarding my hopes so long as you were under the protection 
of — of that man? But you know as well as I do that I 
overheard with you the words that he spoke the last evening 
we were together. ‘She is not my wife — she is not my wife.’ 
Did not those words set you free?” 

There was a long pause before the voice of Bertha sounded 
like a wail of agony. 

”0 God, my God! to think that even this man cannot 
understand what was in my heart — what is in my heart still ! ’ ’ 

‘‘No one has understood you as I have, ” said Sir Ecroyd. 
‘‘No eyes but mine saw how you were suffering those last 
days. Do you believe that if you were my wife you would 
know any suffering? Do you believe ” 

‘‘I will ask you to leave this room,” said Bertha in a 
clear and unfaltering voice. ‘‘You have my contempt now, 
in place of the regard I felt for you. You have insulted 


ON THE CONCLUSION OF THE EXPERIMENT. 40 1 

me as that wretch insulted me — you assume that I was a 
man’s mistress and not his wife.” 

“You heard what he said, and yet you call yourself his 
wife?” 

“Sir Ecroyd, if you do not leave this room I will ask 
you to allow me to leave it. Stay, I will go.” 

There was a long pause, and then the words in a low tone. 

“I have not understood you, Mrs. Charlton. I will leave 
you. ” 

In another moment there came to Julian’s ears the sound 
of the shutting of the outer door. 

He struggled to his feet as a sob reached his ear; but 
before he could take a step toward the room where he now 
knew Bertha was sitting, the outer door was opened with 
some degree of boisterousness, and the familiar voice of Eric 
Vicars was heard. 

“I have found you, my fine lady,” said the ex-overseer, 
with a laugh. “O Bertha, I’m ashamed of you — I’m 
really ashamed of you. How could you demean yourself? 
Is this how you treat my confidence?” 

“What do you mean?” said Bertha. “Your confi- 
dence? Do not talk nonsense, Eric. Please go away.” 

“I’ll not go away,” said he. “I’m too fond of you to go 
away, Bertha — no, I may be rough, but I’ve got a heart ; I’ll 
stay. O Bertha, I would not have believed this of you. 
If I had thought you meant to come down here I would not 
have showed you the letter from the company stating that 
he and she — and she, mind you; oh, the scoundrel! — were 
going off together, leaving you in the lurch. Why have you 
come here? Do you fancy that you will be able to prevail 
on him to stay? Not you — not you ” 

“I need not tell you why I am here,” said Bertha. “You 
would not understand why I am here to see him before he 
leaves.” 

“You will not demean yourself by doing that, Bertha,” 


402 “/ forbid the BANNS!" 

cried Eric. “Oh, that your father’s daughter should 
descend to such a depth as this!’’ 

“Go away,’’ said she. “Can you not see the trouble that 
I am in? Go away.’’ 

“Look here, Bertha,” said he; “I want to help you; that 
is why I followed you down here. I said: ‘She may see 
by the papers that the strike has delayed the steamer, and 
she may have a wish to say good-by to him, so my poor 
foolish big heart sent me off here. Now if you’ve made up 
your mind that you must see him, let me bring him to you 
here. Don’t you think of waiting for him aboard the 
steamer — you don’t want to see her^ I suppose. You wait 
here, and I’ll stay by the steamer, and if it’s necessary to 
drag him hereby sheer force, by my soul. I’ll do it for you, 
Bertha.” 

“You are quite right, Eric,” she replied after a pause. 
“I had better remain here. But you will bring him to me 
here. You will tell him that I have no word of reproach for 
him — only forgiveness — only forgiveness.” 

“If I have to drag him by the throat I’ll bring him to 
your feet,” cried Eric between his set teeth. “I’ll go at 
once.” 

“You scoundrel!” said Julian, coming from his corner 
in the other room, and facing Eric, who stood, as if turned 
to stone, staring at the intruder. 

“O Julian, Julian! I need you beside me. I am weak, 
dearest; you are strong.” 

The words came like the cry of a child from Bertha. She 
was standing with her hands outstretched to him. He paid 
no attention to her. 

“You infernal scoundrel!” he said, facing Eric. “I sus- 
pected you from the first. Now I know your villainy. You 
took a cabin in the last steamer in her name, and then got 
the letter conveyed to me that I might fancy she had gone 
away from me, and now you have tried Xq trick her in the 


ON THE CONCLUSION OF THE EXPERIMENT. 403 

same way — you tried to make her believe that I had 
deserted her, and that I was not going away alone. Is that 
the- truth, or is it a falsehood? Bah! do not try to reply. 
The expression on your face is enough. You forged my 
name. If you are in England after the sailing of that 
steamer to-night, you shall awake inside a jail. No, not a 
word shall you speak to her. Go.” 

He opened the door. The ex-overseer made a mute 
appeal to Bertha — he thought of his heart at the last minute 
and pressed his fist to the portion of his waistcoat which 
might reasonably be supposed to be separated by only an 
inch or so from that organ. Julian gave a very ugly laugh 
as he closed the door. 

He turned and faced her. There was a long pause before 
he cried : 

“My beloved, my beloved!” 

He got no further. His feet gave way beneath him. He 
fell upon his knees at her feet, clutching at her hands, and 
bathing them with his tears. 

“Julian — O Julian; it seems that I have been blind — oh, 
blind, up to the present. But now the scales have fallen 
from my eyes. I see all clearly. I did not know the 
world, Julian — I did not know myself. I thought that 
I was different from other women. I now know that I 
am not different. You did not cease to love' me, Julian, 
did you?” 

“My darling — my darling — not for a moment. It was 
that false life which we were living, Bertha — it was that 
which made me see everything in a distorted form.” 

“We will not go back to that false life again, Julian. You 
will take me to some place far away where — where — where 
we can be married. ’ ’ 

And so he did. 

They went to a distant village in Cornwall, and there they 
were joined in holy matrimony by a duly licensed priest of 


404 “/ FORBID THE BANNS H' 

the Established Church of the land — the Church which is so 
venerated in Cornish villages. 

They returned after a month to the Court. 

The rector, paying them a formal visit, and taking Julian 
aside, inquired if it was true what Lady Rushton had stated, 
to the effect that he had not thought it necessary to go 
through a ceremony of marriage with the lady who went by 
the name of Mrs. Charlton. 

“It is not true, sir,” said Julian with the utmost indig- 
nation. “Lady Rushton is a gossiping old woman, and you 
— you should be ashamed to put such a question to me. 
Great Heavens, sir, what do you take me for?” 

The rector was almost in tears as he offered his humble 
apologies. He went from the Court direct to Lady Rush- 
ton and the manner in which he spoke to her caused her 
to think for the first time of the advisability of joining the 
Dissenting community. 

That is the end of the story of the interesting experiment 
conducted by a spiritually minded young woman on the one 
hand, and by a modern man of science on the other hand. 

It is only necessary to say that Marian Travers went back 
to the Cape still unmarried; but charitable people say that, if 
she remains unmarried, she is certainly not to blame for it. 
Few people know that she gave Cyril his freedom, and that 
he fully appreciated the gift. 

Charlie Barham passed a creditable examination for a sub- 
lieutenancy, and he is now a supernumerary aboard the 
Mollytnmvk of the Mediterranean squadron. 

Cyril Southcote is winning a name for himself as an able 
administrator in the Calipash Archipelago. He is becom- 
ing so bald that people are calling him intellectual. 

This is excessively annoying. 


THE END. 


X “THE F?OIVI AIVJOES OR J 

♦ ♦ 

I AMEDEE ACHARD. | 

♦ ♦ 

♦ This author is not by any means as familiar to American and ♦ 

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